


Between Us

by loosescrew



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosescrew/pseuds/loosescrew
Summary: They had a peculiar friendship but it was something she could get used to. Where one lacked, the other made up for.





	1. Six

**Author's Note:**

> Another AU folks.
> 
> This somehow came to me while listening to Britney Spears’ Femme Fatale album. We love and respect Britney in this house.
> 
> Anyways, I have nothing to say for myself other than self-indulgence strikes again! Will be multiple chapters altho I have no clue how many. (It’ll be way longer than Snowblind)
> 
> Rating will change, but we got a long time before that. Word count will vary from chapter to chapter.

She was in kindergarten when Claire met the  _strangest_  boy.

Daddy told her not to be nervous so she wasn't. He said she'd be without them for a few hours every day but she would make friends. Everybody would love Claire.

When daddy dropped her off at the basketball courts where all the other kids were lining up for their classes, Claire found that familiar sandy blonde hair that belonged to Andrew Clark. Turns out, they were having the same teacher.

They'd known each other for as long as Claire's little mind could think back. Their moms were friends from high school that grew closer during college. Whenever her parents threw those lavish parties of theirs, they'd come over. Andrew was a totally normal presence in her life.

The teacher was nice and had a name most of the class couldn't properly pronounce. Too much tongue rolling. Claire's bit of French helped be ahead of them.

He shortened it to Mr. Ryan. He was teaching them how to color  _in_  the lines and that made Claire happy. She loved coloring.

Daddy bought her a pack of sixty four Crayola's that wasn't on the list of required supplies. All the kids wanted to be at her group table. Claire wasn't a mean girl. Her parents raised her better than that. She shared, even if they weren't at her table.

Mr. Ryan needed to step out, leaving the class of a little over twenty kids by themselves with papers full of outlines butterflies that needed life poured into them through color.

Balls of paper started landing on her table. Claire didn't think anything of it, too immersed coloring her butterfly the prettiest shades of pink. Andrew let out a sound when one of the balls hit his cheek. Claire could tell by the dark blue smudges on his sheet that he was getting angrier by the second.

Something landed on the back of her head not long after the balls stopped. It didn't hurt but she thought it was stuck. Claire reached behind her to take it out but there was nothing; all she felt was the straw of her hair. Mommy did her hair nice today, using a lot of hair spray. Claire hated every second of it.

When Claire turned in her chair, there was a boy off to the side in a table by himself. His lips were pressed tightly together and his cheeks were tinged in red. He was barely containing himself.

Claire  _shouldn't_  have thought it, but the boy was pretty. Even if his hair was a beautiful mess and his clothes looked too big for him.

She looked down at the ground. There was a paper airplane on the floor made from the butterfly sheet.

"Hey," Andrew called out, attracting the attention of some of the other kid's—including that boy. "Don't you have something to say?"

"Like what?" He replied easily with a grin.

"Sorry, maybe?"

"Why? I didn't do anything." He said innocently.

"You're such a liar, Bender."

"Well," Bender clicked his tongue. " _She's_  the one with the big head!"

Claire pressed her lips tightly.

"Just leave her alone," Andrew said curtly, shooting him a glare. "Say you're sorry and quit it."

Bender regarded Andrew with a cocky look. "Are you her brother?"

"I'm a friend. And if you keep messing with her, I'll kick your butt."

" _Ooh. Y_ ou're her…  _boyfriend_?" He asked with exaggerated devilry.

" _Ew, no_!" They both said in unison.

Bender's grin seemed to get wider. "Maybe you should—"

He didn't finish it. Bender's grin faltered as his eyes watched the silhouette of Mr. Ryan on his way back to the classroom. Bender immediately looked down at his empty space and picked up one of the old, broken crayons.

"He's such a buttface," Andrew mumbled so lowly that only Claire could hear as Mr. Ryan walked in. "I  _hate_  him."

Her brows furrowed and she frowned. "That's not nice, Andy. Hate is a strong word. You don't know him."

"I don't have to," He responded bluntly. "If he's not nice, then I won't be either."

Claire glanced back, at the boy sitting in the lone table with no crayons of his own. Mr. Ryan started walking towards his table.

"Should we tell on him?" Claire whispered.

"You pick."

Claire didn't know why, but she didn't.


	2. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this while listening to Fall Out Boy's Save Rock and Roll album.
> 
> … Which is funny to me, bc I wrote parts of present and future chapters while listening to their American Beauty/American Psycho album.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't until the third grade that Claire realized just how often Bender was absent.

Claire didn't understand how she didn't notice those days of Bender's empty desk  _sooner_ _._  They had the same teachers for the last three years. Yesterday was oddly quiet without his fussing. Though he made crude comments, Bender was the class clown and made everyone laugh.

He couldn't be  _entirely_  bad.

Their teacher, Mrs. Rogers, called his house several times throughout the day. Claire watched the confusion etched onto her features every time nobody picked up.

When Bender returned this morning, there was a funny step in his walk. Claire figured he got into another fight right before. He didn't get along well with anyone— _especially_  Andrew.

Bender might as well glue the cone of shame to his head. Andrew should consider the time-out chair his permanent desk. Claire was sure Andrew's dad kept a hand by his office telephone at all times now.

Today hadn't been any different—except, it  _had_.

Daddy called the main office earlier to let her know he'd be running late. As she waited on the school driveway, Claire wrapped the blanket she'd gotten as a Secret Santa gift tightly around her body.

She spent all day asking who gave it to her. There was no card with the gift, and it was wrapped like they threw it together milliseconds before school started. The blanket, however, was crispy clean. It looked homemade, Mrs. Rogers noted, crafted with weeks of labor. It was special.

At first, she thought it was from Andrew. His Secret Santa, however, was Cindy Mancini—the pretty blonde girl he was  _totally_  crushing on.

Her foot tapped impatiently once Andrew's Bronco was out of sight. His dad didn't look happy to hear about  _another_  punishment, especially so close to Christmas. With Andrew gone, she had no other friends around. Claire didn't like to be kept waiting. She was always the first to leave and the last to arrive.

Tired of standing, Claire turned around. Bender was still here, sitting on the stairs with his head in his arms, arms folded over his knees.

She knew she shouldn't but her feet had their own mind. Claire wasn't afraid of him the way all the other kids were.

"Hi." She said, stopping in front of him.

He didn't even look up. "Go away, Cherry."

She stomped her feet angrily. "I've told you before, that's not my name! I'm  _Claire_!"

"I  _know_."

"Then stop calling me that." She huffed in finality.

Bender finally lifted his head and Claire noticed his red nose. "But it sounds like a fat girl's name. Cherry's  _way_  better."

"It's a family name," She said like it was supposed to be obvious to everyone on the planet. "And I'm  _not_  fat!"

"Not yet." He replied nonchalantly with a roll of his shoulders. "But one day, you might."

She puffed her cheeks. "You know, I  _really_  don't like you."

"Yeah?  _Good_."

"My mom had to cut my hair because of  _you_. You keep putting gum in my hair."

Bender inspected her mom's handy work. "You needed it, anyways. It was too long."

Claire pouted. He never apologized to Mrs. Rogers for putting thumb tacks on her chair, so why did she expect some kind of apology for this?

"I didn't tell her it was your fault," She admitted quietly, looking at her feet that stuck out from under the blanket.

There were so many things she had never told their teachers she caught Bender doing. Daddy always told her that if she saw something wrong happening, she should do something to stop it.

But she just  _couldn't_. Not with this boy. Claire had no clue why.

"Maybe you should've. What's she gonna do? Call my mom?" He taunted.

She looked back up, meeting with that condescending look in his eyes. "Why're you always so...  _mean_?"

Bender leaned back against the cement. "I dunno. It's kinda fun, bein' the bad guy."

"But it hurts peoples' feelings."

His eyebrows flew up. "...  _So_? Ya think my feelings don't get hurt, too?"

"Well, I dunno," It was Claire's turn to reply without a care. "We don't know each other. You know, we've always had the same teachers but I don't even know your name…"

" _Maybe_  because you don't care about anyone but yourself." He mumbled.

Her hands balled into fists. " _That's not true_!"

"It doesn't really matter," Bender said quietly, almost bitterly. "It's better we're not friends."

"Why?"

"'Cause I don't want a friend like you."

"Why? What's so wrong with me?"

"Just leave me alone."

"But I wanna know about you!" She blurted before she could think it through.

Bender stared at her with curious eyes. How could a boy with such pretty eyes be the Tasmanian devil in disguise?

"…  _Why_?" He asked breathlessly.

She sat down next to him, his eyes never leaving her. His clothes were still too big for his frame and he smelled funny.

"I know you don't have many friends," Claire said softly. "Don't you get... lonely?"

"Nope."

" _Really_?" She probed.

Bender fought off the shiver from the cold, bringing his hands higher on his covered arms. "Yeah."

"... Are you cold?"

He scoffed. " _No_."

Claire rolled her eyes, opening the side and wrapping the pink blanket it around him.

He scowled, trying to move her hand away. "I don't—"

"Get in."

Bender was taken aback by her tone, eye brows set like he was ready to fire something back the way he always did. But he shocked her by complying, scooting closer until she was able to wrap the blanket around him.

Despite his icy demeanor, Bender was warm like the sun rays she hadn't felt in weeks, hiding behind these grey clouds. She  _almost_  moved closer.

"This is... really  _weird_."

"Shut up." She deadpanned.

Her quip managed a very minuscule quirk of his lip.

They fell into a comfortable silence. It was weird—she didn't think it was a bad kind of weird, though. They weren't friends but at least they wouldn't be at each other's throats any more.

At least, Claire hoped they wouldn't be.

"Hey, Bender," She said abruptly. She didn't want to ruin it but curiosity still gnawed at her. "Do you know who gave me this?"

"No clue."

Claire sighed dramatically. "I really wanna thank them. Nobody knows."

"Maybe whoever gave it to you doesn't want you to know it was them."

"Why not?" She turned to him, curious.

Bender shrugged. "Something's are just better if you never know."

"That's...  _bizarre_ , I don't get it." Claire pursed her lips, thinking of something else that was safe to ask. "Why're you still here?"

"What about you?"

Claire opened her mouth to retort then decided not to. They were getting along, although on a thin sheet of ice that would crack if she stepped in a weak spot.

"Dad's late. I think something came up at work again. He's always working now... I don't see him as much as I used to."

"That sucks."

A gust of wind came by and Claire moved closer to his warmth as a reflex. He didn't protest in any way, just looked on intensely.

"I don't see my mom a lot either," Claire continued. "I think she forgets I'm there. She only pays attention to me if I do something wrong, like if my clothes don't match or my hair isn't brushed."

"Yeah," Bender said, looking away. "Mine don't care much about me."

"Not even your daddy?"

"He's not a nice guy," He replied with a crinkle of his noise. "The only person that's nice to me is my brother."

"Not even your mom?"

"Not even my mom." He confirmed tightly.

"Well, I'm being nice to you," She said cordially. "And more people could be too. You just have to let them."

Bender licked the corner of his mouth, fighting whether he wanted to say whatever it was. Claire was expecting him to push her away.

"My name's John." He admitted reluctantly.

Claire smiled. "Okay, John, I have a brother, too. He's in middle school."

"Mine's too. I'm waiting for him. We walk home when his school ends."

She blinked. "So, you sit out here all the time? Waiting for him? By  _yourself_?"

"Yep," John said, proud that he could do things on his own unlike most kids their age. "Middle school doesn't let out until an hour after us."

"That's bad! It's  _really_  cold out!"

He shrugged. "I can handle it."

Claire pondered. "You should come over to my house."

John shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'm used to it."

"Or my dad can take you home. I can ask him."

He flinched. "You don't wanna see where I live."

"Why not?"

"It's not fit for your... kind."

"My kind _?_ " She reiterated, moving away slightly. "What's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"It means we're not the same."

"We're not different species, John. Didn't we learn a few days ago that we're mammals? We have the same blood."

"My parents don't have a lot of money, Claire," He said honestly, completely calmly, and used her  _name_. "I don't think he'll even let us be friends."

As if he  _knew_ , Claire saw the familiar twinkle of her dad's BMW stopping at the sign.

"Wanna  _bet_?" Claire challenged.

John smirked, like he hadn't almost stepped on the ice just seconds ago. "It's just a fact."

She got up, nose pointed high, meeting her dad at the curb of the school driveway. She opened the door but didn't get inside.

"Hi, daddy."

"What is it, honey?" His eyes roamed. "Where'd you get that blanket?"

"Someone gave it to me. Hey, daddy, is it okay to take my friend home?"

He blinked, like she should've already known his answer. "Sure, who is it?"

"It's—"

When she turned around, John was gone.


	3. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. Sorry for the delay. My motivation [to write anything] plummeted. I ended up scraping my original idea and I lost track of where I wanted to go with this story but we good now.
> 
> Warning: mentions of child abuse.

The bathrooms' vanity lights were more blinding than usual today. Maybe it was because Claire felt so drained.

Practice was _heinous_. One of the girls was still behind on all her routines and the group suffered the consequences. And she was hungry. The goat cheese for breakfast ended up in the toilet first thing when she got to school. She couldn't even swallow the bland salad her mom packed for lunch and threw it away.

Her feet screamed as Claire walked back into the girls changing room. Once she grabbed her duffle bag from her locker, she sat on the nearest bench and started untying her slippers. Against her better judgement, she curled her toes once her feet were free. The muscles were cramped.

She sighed, reaching to the back of her neck to unfasten the buttons of the leotard. She _hated_ leotards. Rashes kept forming on her thighs and it hurt to walk some days even with ointment. Dad tried convincing mom to take her out but he was shut down. Mom wouldn't hear for Claire's complaints. Eventually, the pain stopped and they fit snugly instead of tightly.

“Hey, Claire, so—“ Claire spun on her seat, a scream centimeters away from tearing out of her throat. “Don’t. It’s me.”

She hastily grabbed something to cover herself though John’s palms covered his eyes. “ _What’re you doing_ here?”

“You're not gonna believe me but your mom told me to come get ya.”

“Why?”

John shrugged. “How should I know, Cherry? She looked like she had somewhere to be.”

Claire’s brows furrowed, her rapid heartbeat starting to steady. “What about my dad?”

“I didn’t see his car in the drive way. He could’ve just forgotten about you.”

“Dad doesn’t forget about things. He always has a plan.” She countered indigently.

"Yeah, I guess you got a point. Georgie's good at planning."

She rolled her eyes at his nick name for her dad. George thought it was an _endearing_ quality of John's. “How’d you even get in here?”

His head swayed from side to side smugly. “I _might’ve_ crawled through the vent—hey, don't give me that look! It's gettin' cold outside, what'd you expect me to do? Wait out there? Fuck that!”

"John!" She whispered sharply, reaching for the dress she wore to school earlier. "Watch your language!"

"I'm not sorry."

She worked on getting her legs into the stockings. Mom hated whenever anyone, especially Claire, wore things twice. Claire was preparing herself for the inevitable lecture when she walked through the door. "I thought you couldn't see."

"I can't," John looked from side to side, showing off how covered his eyes were. "I just know you."

She sneered. “You know you’re gonna fall one day, right?”

“Sure,” He replied cheerily. “But not today.”

She puffed her cheeks. “So, can you leave me alone for a few seconds? I need to finish.”

He walked backward until he was out the door, and closed it with his foot. Almost two years later and he was still the weirdest person she knew—always doing things others were afraid to do. She smiled fondly, wishing she could have his outrageous attitude sometimes.

After buttoning up her dress, she shoved her duffle bag back in her locker, making sure it was secure. Nobody stole but it stop the girls from having locks. In the empty hallway, John waited against the wall by the door.

She closed the door behind her. “Are you walking me home?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “ _Duh_. Did I not tell you that your mom asked for me to?”

“You don’t have to be so dry about it," She punched his shoulder playfully and he feigned pain. "I just wanna make sure. You know how my mom is.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Well, if you got a couple bucks on ya, we can go to the arcade,” He added snidely, one hand in the pocket of his baggy pants. “I wanna know if someone beat my score on Galaxian.”

“Not today,” She started walking and he followed, perpetually glued to her side ever since she spoke to him that afternoon. “I just wanna go home.”

* * *

“Are we there _yet_?”

“Stop complaining, Claire!” He responded gruffly, hiking her higher because she was beginning to slip down.

“But I’m _tired,_ John” She whined loudly. “Practice was _really_ long and—“

“And you don’t think I’m tired, too?" His yell could've scared the birds in the trees. "I’ve been walkin’ around all day, _and_ I’m in pain, _and_ now I gotta carry you around ‘cause _you_ wouldn’t stop crying about your feet!”

“How is any of that even my fault?" She retorted hotly. "You offered!”

“Yeah, but if I wouldn’t’ve if I knew you weighed like a pig!”

Claire pulled her lips to a tight line, biting down her quivering lip. Every time her mom brought up her weight, it ended with Claire in tears. She had _enough_ of it, of the comparisons, of all the disgusting food, of the exercising. John was the _last_ person she wanted to hear it from.

Her hand yanked on his hair. He yelped, completely surprised, and almost lost his footing.

“ _Watch it_!” His quick reflexes were a shoe in for any kind of sport but John wasn’t into them. “I almost fuckin’ fell and dropped you!”

She gasped, glancing around the unfamiliar neighborhood. “Watch your mouth, John.”

“I told you to watch it first!”

She just wanted to be home. She wanted to know why mom didn't pick her up, or why she didn't call to let them know she'd be running late. Her parents were always good at those sorts of things when they weren't fighting or mom was sick. It would've solved everything. And John wouldn't be mad.

Claire placed her head on his shoulder blade, all the unfamiliar cars parked on the curb reminding her that they still weren’t anywhere near home. He tensed the way he always did. He never really liked affection.

She really hated whenever they fought though it wasn't as often as it used to be. They learned they were so much alike, both stubborn and stuck up in completely different ways. And they both didn't like to apologize.

“Did you really mean it?” She asked quietly.

“Mean what?" He asked. "I say a lotta things, Claire.”

“Did you mean it when you called me a pig?”

John was silent, then sighed long and loud. “You weigh as much as a pillow.”

She’s lip quirked upwards. “Yeah?”

“Yeah," He reiterated dismissively. "Don't let it go to your head.”

She smiled, her arms wrapping tighter around his neck. His awful bowl cut that his mom did over the weekend tickled her nose. Claire's dad tried fixing it as much as he could without cutting most of it off.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice sometimes, you know.”

John scoffed, hiking her higher. “We’re not friends ‘cause I’m nice.”

“No,” Claire trailed off. “We’re friends ‘cause you’re weird and I like you like that.”

John snorted but had nothing to say back. He was always weird like that when it came to any type of compliment. She enjoyed catching him off guard because she was a nice person and it was so _rare_.

He kept his steady pace, and finally— _finally_ —she recognized one of the cars parked on the curb, and the sparkly Halloween decorations on one person’s lawn. From the distance, she saw her gate was open.

“That’s funny.” She mused aloud as they got closer. Her father’s BMW was in their driveway. He was hardly ever home, unless it was after dark and right around Claire's curfew. “Are you sure my dad wasn’t here?”

“Positive.” He replied, sounding equally confused.

John let her down on her porch. She was about to ring the doorbell when her door flew open.

Her brother, Leonardo, looked shocked to see her. She could hear her dad screaming from somewhere inside. He let out a huge sigh of relief and called over his shoulder for George. He slammed the telephone back into the socket and she could hear his feet pounding on the tile.

“ _Claire_?” Her father pushed Leonardo off to the side. George knelt down, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. “Thank God!”

Her nose caught on his shoulder and she tried wiggling. “Daddy… I can’t—“

He pulled away, placing his hands firmly on her small shoulders. “Where’d you go, honey?”

“I was—“

“Your dance teacher called me and told me you left,” He interrupted. “I drove around the block _three_ times but I couldn’t find you. Why didn’t you wait for your mother? You know it's dangerous at this time, Claire! Why would you do that?”

“John told me that mom told him to bring me home.” She said slowly and clearly.

His brown eyes searched her face. He turned to John. “Is that true?”

John looked down, nodding. “I came by ‘cause I forgot Claire had practice today and Debra told me to go get her ‘cause she couldn’t...”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” He stubbed his foot on the wood. “She looked like she was in a hurry.”

“John,” George started. “Did you see where she went?”

He nodded again, still not looking up. “She passed me when I got to the light down the street. She made a left.”

Something clicked behind her father’s eyes. His thick eyebrows, knitted tightly in anger, changed direction. Claire didn't understand.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” She asked when he still didn’t say anything. He stared aimlessly past their driveway. “Where'd mom go?”

He blinked himself out of his stupor, smiling softly at her. “Nothing’s wrong, Claire. Everything’s okay now. I’m glad you’re safe. You scared me half to death, honey. Leo called when you weren’t home and I came right over.”

“I’m sorry. I didn't—”

George put a hand on her head, his fingers running through her hair. She really needed a shower. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left your mother in charge of picking you up. I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

She was starting to really hate that phrase. “Okay…”

"Thank you, John," He said sincerely, standing up. "For making sure she got here safely.”

"She's my friend,” John replied, shrugging. “No big deal."

“All right, let's go inside. It's getting cold out.” George stepped aside.

The house was incredibly warm like sitting next to the fire place with some hot chocolate. The thought of sugar and the faint smell of coffee that hung in the air made her stomach growl. John snickered, earning him a slap on the shoulder. He always found misery entertaining.

“Hey, Lion.”

”Hey, Johnny-boy,” Leonardo responded with a smile. “How’re you doing? Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

”Could be better,” He put one hand in his pocket. He hated being called Johnny but he let Leonardo get away with it. “Could be worse.”

”What’re you doing home early?” Claire asked as she took off her shoes and left them by the door. John followed suit. “I thought you were still at school.”

”Student Council meeting ended up getting canceled.”

”Oh.”

”It’s a good thing I came home early too,” He ruffled her hair and she slapped his hand away with a scowl. “I would’ve ended up staying in the library to finish up my science project.”

”The same one from last week?”

”Same exact one. It’s gonna be great, I already _feel_  like my GPA's gonna sky rocket.”

John leaned over so only she could hear. “Have I ever mentioned how much of a nerd he is?”

She shoved him. “Don’t say that about Leo.”

George laughed. “If you kids are hungry, I’ll call for some take-out. Marissa won’t be back from vacation until sometime Thursday," George said after he hung John's sweater on the rack. "You like shrimp, right, John?”

John licked his lips. "I’ve never had that before.”

“Well, we’ll get you some chicken just in case,” He said gently. “Maybe some teriyaki beef.”

Claire pursed her lips, thinking. "Mom says I can't eat that. She says too much of it’ll make me fat."

"You're not fat, honey. Don't ever say things like that." George frowned wistfully, suddenly looking so much older than thirty five. "Don’t worry about your mother. She’s going on a _long_ vacation."

* * *

“ _God_ ," John shoved the window open, poking his head through it. She didn't remember when he randomly started showing up at her house unannounced but after the third time she started leaving her window unlocked. "What's that _smell_?"

Claire scrubbed vigorously, watching as the light pink smeared away. "I'm cleaning the polish off."

John plopped himself on her bed the way he always did, almost knocking the bottle over. " _Obviously_. But why?"

Claire picked it up and put the cap back on. "Ms. Barnes said that we can't have our nails painted for Friday."

"Does it really matter?"

She threw the cotton ball in her garbage can by her nightstand then crossed her legs. "She says it's distracting when we do our performances."

"I don't see _how_."

She shrugged.

There was nothing to do else to do for the day. She didn't have ballet practice and all her homework was finished while she waited for Leonardo to pick her up. He borrowed one of dad's cars for school, the fast car with the nice interior, and dropped her off at home. Then he left to baseball practice. Dad was home early but locked himself in his office. Marissa was also back but she was somewhere in the living room, probably watching TV since it was about time for her to leave for the day.

A ball of paper hit the side of her head, and Claire snapped out of her jumble of thoughts. It landed perfectly in her lap and she pried it open carefully. She shot him a glare. "What'd you do that for, John? This is my homework!"

He smirked, self satisfied. "You're thinking way too much. You didn't even hear me open the bag."

She sighed heavily, placing her destroyed homework on her nightstand. She bit her lip, peeking at John hesitantly. "My Mom's still not back."

"... _So_?" He blinked. "Isn't that good? No more of your parents’ fighting."

"I think something’s wrong," Claire paused and decided to say the things she had been thinking about the last few days. "Why isn't she back yet? Where'd she go?"

"Got me." John said dismissively, locking his fingers behind his head. “I’ve never been anywhere besides here.”

“Nowhere?" She asked.

"Nope."

Claire's curiosity gnawed at her. It wasn't every day that John talked about his life. Small pieces to a puzzle weren't enough any more. "Really? Not even for a family vacation? My parents took us to Disneyland once. And I think we're going to France in a few years.”

John scoffed. "Sounds nice."

“So, where would you go? If you could?”

“Anywhere," He muttered."Long as it's far away from here.”

"How far?"

"Far away."

She hated when he did that. He always acted like his life wasn't important. He knew so much about her, yet she knew so little about him. All she had were sand grains with no water to build a sand castle.

John's taste in music constantly switched from loud noise with too much yelling to strange sounding songs with too much guitar. Leonardo didn't help, he loved to supply John with new things to listen to. Sometimes, he wore the same clothes more than twice a week. She once asked him about that and it ended with both of them mad. They didn't talk for about a week until Claire figured out that it was because he was poor.

And, recently, she started noticing how John never wanted to go home.

“Hey, John," She turned her body towards him. "Tell me about your house.”

“What else is there to tell?” He asked with a scowl. “I've already told you everything important.”

“No, you haven't. There's so much I still don't know about you.”

“I don’t think you’d—“

“Of course I do, you jerk! That’s why I’m asking!” She reached over, pinching his side roughly. “You never tell me _anything_!”

John hissed in pain, his hands immediately covering the spot. “ _Dammit, Claire_! Don’t _do_ that!”

Claire froze, taken aback by his outburst. “I'm sorry. I didn’t—“ He sat up carefully against her mountain of pillows, grimacing. She involuntarily moved closer to him, unsure whether she should reach out. “Are you okay?”

“Look, I’ll tell ya,” John replied irritably, waving off her concern. “You just gotta promise this stays between us.” 

Claire nodded slowly, embracing the pressure on her shoulders.

“I mean it," He said rigidly, eyes dead set. "Nobody. You can’t even tell your dad.”

“No one. Got it,” She replied confidently, holding up her hand. “Do you wanna pinky swear it?”

His nose scrunched. “I can live without that.”

Her brother had been in little leagues ever since Claire was old enough to start making memories. Leonardo played everything from football to badminton. She grew up seeing Leonardo’s injuries—anything from scraped and bloody knees to shards of glass lodged in his forearms. She _should’ve_ been way more than prepared.

But when John lifted his sleeve, she bit back a gasp. The mark on his forearm was disgustingly red. Fresh, not even cleaned or wrapped properly.

Claire swallowed, knowing exactly what that mark looked like. “Is that—“

“A cigar? Yeah.” He drawled bitterly. “It’s what I got for spilling paint in the garage yesterday.”

Claire mouth felt so dry. An annoying sting formed behind her eyes but she blinked that away. He indicated with his hands to the spot where she touched. “This was a few days ago."

" _Why_?"

"Nobody took out the trash.” He paused, licking his teeth. “I think my brother’s got it a lot worse ‘cause he’s older... Dad almost stabbed him the other day ‘cause he dropped a plate by accident.”

Her heart almost stopped. And all she could do was whisper, “What?”

“He missed,” John couldn’t look at her, though his eyebrows were fixed. He was angry. “But Rob’s got a huge scratch on his face where the glass cut him. He's covering it up by saying a cat scratched him.”

“This… This happens a lot?” She managed to ask.

John just nodded, jaw clenching. And Claire didn’t know which was worse: his enraged silence or how he just accepted that it was part of him, and not something that happened _to_ him.

And all the things she missed came tumbling and wove together in her mind like a spider's web: why they always seemed to be together, why he always seemed to be over; why he even _stayed_ some nights, sleeping on floor.

"That's why you're not at school sometimes..." John nodded. “That’s... That's why you’re here… Almost all the time...”

“I try not to be, but...” He trailed off, plucking at something on his pants. “Well... You’re my only friend.”

He went rigid when she threw her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him close to her. Her nose buried in his shoulder and she could smell the faint nicotine on his shirt. John started smoking recently. How he got his hands on cigarettes, she'd never know. She wished he'd stop.

Claire tried with all her might to push back her tears though her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat. He didn’t do anything but sit there, a statue. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid herself of all these horrible images.

After a while, John shifted. “This is why I didn’t wanna tell you.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I knew you’d start crying.”

Claire scoffed though it probably came out as a choked sob to him. “I’m _not_ crying.”

" _Sure_."

"Why haven't you told somebody?"

"I just told you." He deadpanned.

"I _mean_ an adult." She felt the wetness down her cheek, brushing it away with her thumb. "They'll help you."

"No, they won't." He shook his head, his hair tickling her eyes. "They'll never believe me."

"I believe you. My dad would believe you, too. You _know_ he would."

"I..." He struggled to get it out. "I can't."

"Of course you can."

"No, Claire. I can't," John said after he swallowed. "You don't get it."

"Then help me," She insisted. She just didn't understand _anything_ but she wanted to. "Help me get it."

He shook his head again, lowering every so slowly to sit on her shoulder. She could feel his shaky breath against her neck. His arms came up and she thought he was going to hug her back, but instead his hands held her waist.

“It’s my fault,” John said so softly, something below than a whisper, that if her house had been full of the usual noise she would’ve missed it. But her dad was still in his den, and her brother still not home. It was just the two of them in her big, empty room. "It's... My fault. I—"

“I don't believe that.” She pulled him tighter against him. “It’s _not_. Don’t say that.”

“But it is.”

“No," Her nails dug into his shirt. "It’s not.”

His hands gripped her sides hard. Any more strain and it would start hurting. ”Stop it, Claire.”

She sniffed, scrunching her nose. "You first.”

Maybe if it were another time, he would've had a snarky reply. Instead, John tried pushing her away but Claire's grip was an iron hold. ”Let me go.”

“I won’t.”

“Claire,” John warned dangerously. "Let. Me. Go."

"No, I'm not letting go," She shook her head stubbornly though his grip was starting to hurt. If she let go, he would run. And Claire was scared he might not come back. "It's not your fault, John.”

He stopped struggling, trembling under her hold and heaving. "Don't fuck with me."

"I won't let you go," She repeated boldly. "Deal with it."

"Claire—"

"It's not your fault."

Like waves crashing on the shoreline, all John's antagonism vanished and his body wracked violently. He hugged her back with a force Claire never knew he had, burying his head as far as it would go on her neck. She had never seen him cry. She probably never would—this was as close as she'd ever get. Her shirt would be all the evidence that it happened. He had to keep his pride somehow.

Her own tears and heartache streamed down her face, and Claire threaded her fingers through his soft hair. She wished she had something else to say. _Anything_. Anything that would make this all go away. But nothing came to her mind, and no other sound came out from her throat other than measly whimpers. 

So she sat there and held him, hoping this small thing could ease some of his pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the ending is very similar to a scene from the movie Good Will Hunting. Wasn't my original intention but I kept it. I hope my homage is worthy. ;~;


	4. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Judd Nelson's eyes are brown... but... it's not gonna stop me from describing them as hazel.
> 
> I’ve also noticed I have a minor obsession with hands.
> 
> Last thing, I think I'm in love w Cardi B. Her music is great.

“Hi.”

Andrew looked like he’d seen better days. Dark marks smeared his red cheeks and patches of wet spots were all over his clothes. He indicated to the empty space by Claire on the table bench and she scooted over.

“Hey,” She said politely. “Where’d you come from?”

“Courts,” Andrew said, rubbing his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I played some basketball with Steff. Then it turned into a football game with the others and some fourth graders. I’m _beat_.”

“I bet! Did you win?”

“Every game. What about you?”

She swung her legs. “No games for me.”

“I can tell. Still…” He jutted his chin to the backyard, where Jennifer and some of their friends ran around bare foot. “You should be there with them. We’ll never see most of them again.”

Claire wanted to; she really, _really_ wanted to. Jennifer and the other girls looked like they were having the time of their lives. But there was no way. Her mom would have a cow if there was even a single speck of dirt on her new skirt.

Claire couldn’t imagine what would happen to her if she ever found out about the things her and John did. Though, the thought of it made her smile.

“I’m gonna miss everyone.” She said quietly, looking thoughtfully at all the kids she’d spent the last five years with.

“Yeah, me too,” Andrew used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Claire held back a curl of disgust. Why were boys always so dirty? “So you’re going to Maryville, right?”

Claire nodded, folding her hands on her lap. “My letter came in March.”

“Okay, cool! I’ll see you there.” Andrew commented. His parents managed to get him into the sports program. Andrew was always good at that stuff. They moved over two months ago and were making the long drives here just so Andrew could finish. “What about the move? Did your parents finally get a place?”

For the last half a year, she'd been trying to put it out of her mind. Her parents wouldn’t _stop_ bickering about it, making it so unbelievably difficult to  _not_ think about it.

Dad had been packed and ready to go the day after Claire got her acceptance letter. He’d always wanted something closer to downtown Chicago. More business for him.

Mom, surprisingly, was the reluctant one. She was the one that organized all of their vacations. She said it was better to stay in Shermer for reasons Claire never caught. For once, Claire found herself picking a side. 

“We’re leaving a week before I start sixth grade,” Claire shrugged, hoping she sounded nonchalant though she felt like crying. “Leo’s going to Stanford the week before.”

“No way.”

Claire nodded. “He wants to be some kind of engineer but it’s so much school… I won’t be able to see him a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” Andrew noticed the shift in her demeanor and brushed her shoulder with his, comforting in his own way. “You’ll see him again. Maybe he’ll come home for the holidays. You never know.”

“I don’t blame him if he doesn’t.” Claire muttered. Andrew didn’t catch her comment and she was grateful. She was honestly tired of talking about it. “Hey, did you sign my yearbook?”

“Not sure. Honestly, I’ve lost track of how many I’ve signed. Everyone keeps shoving them in my face.” Andrew shrugged. “I put the same thing all the time.”

Claire smiled. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll go get it.”

The classroom was a couple of buildings down, towards the entrance of the school. It was a long walk but she didn’t care. She needed a reason to get away from the ringing laughter of her friends. Being there was becoming too much and the grey walls were somehow more comforting than talking.

Claire froze when she peeked into her classroom. The room looked like a tornado had run through. Cabinets were open, contents spilling from the inside; desks were emptied out, textbooks and folders sprawled across the floor. The culprit sprinted across the room with a stride that could rival a cheetah’s.

“ _John_!” Keeping her voice to a low was hard when all she wanted to do was scream. “What’re you _doing_?”

John didn’t even stop. It’s like he knew before she even arrived. He pulled open the drawer of the teacher’s desk, throwing the papers in the air. “Redecorating.”

“This isn’t even your classroom!”

“… _So_?” He countered with a face. John flicked some of his hair out of his eyes, going back to his task. “I already did this to mine. And keep your voice down, it’s blowing my concentration.”

Claire threw her hands up. “Do you know how much trouble you’ll get in if they find out?”

For a split second, John looked wary and actually stopped. “You gonna tell? You’d sell me out like that?”

“No, of course not! You know I’d never!”

He turned to face the wall of lockers directly behind the teacher’s desk. “Then I don’t got anything to worry about.”

“But this is still wrong!“

“They should’ve locked the door,” He interrupted smoothly. “It was begging me to come in.”

Claire rolled her eyes. What was _with_ this boy? Only he could drive her so crazy.

“The better question is:” John continued. “What’re _you_ doing here? Shouldn’t you be outside with your friends?”

Claire looked side to side, making sure the coast was clear before stepping in the cold classroom. Out of all the desks, hers was spared from his wrath—not that he’d have anything to throw since Claire had cleaned out hers last week.

“I just came to get my yearbook,” She made sure it was still inside her bag the way she left it, then zipped it up. She hooked her shoulder under the strap. “Andy hasn’t signed it yet.”

John scowled and Claire knew it wasn’t at what he was doing. If destroying school property were a sport, he’d be an international sensation. He'd been suspended from school a few times already. How he managed to pass even with all his absences and suspensions, Claire would never know.

“What was _that_ for?”

He fumbled with the combination to the teacher’s wall locker behind the desk. “You know I don’t like Sporto.”

“You guys should really get over it,” Claire chided, repeating Andrew’s earlier words. “You’ll probably never see each other again.”

“Let me know when he does first.” John huffed, patting down the pockets of his jacket and pants.

Claire sighed exasperatedly, letting him be. School wasn't going to let out for another hour and a half. She thought about reading her yearbook while everyone played. It might provide the distraction she needed. The more she thought, the more she realized it’d make everything harder.

Leaving this town never crossed her mind until mom talked to her about private. She thought she’d be here forever, with all her friends… and him.

Claire heard something click, snapping her out of her thoughts. But it wasn’t the lock that opened. She whirled her head in the direction, the blade gleaming under the lights.

“John, don’t—“

John ignored her, slipping the very tip of the blade into the keyhole. How and why did he still have that thing? Didn’t they confiscate it years ago? Groaning internally, Claire realized he must’ve found it sometime today while everyone was away, even the teachers.

Claire rushed over, afraid he’d cut himself with just how much he was twisting and turning it. “Stop it!”

“Stop yelling,” John said eerily calm through grit teeth. “I know what I’m doing. You gotta have faith in me.”

“You should—“

“Claire,” He said so unbelievably gently. “Relax.”

Things had changed between them, something Claire didn’t want to admit. It was another bulletin on the list of things she'd been trying not to think about. She didn't know what exactly happened.

One day, they’d been walking side by side to the ice cream stand down the street from her house. She turned to say something to him and just stopped, at a loss. He'd gotten taller. They’d always been the same height until that very moment. How did she never notice?

And when he was being mischievous—like right now—a faint emerald twinkled against the honey brown color of his eyes. And he had such nice dark lashes. She always knew he had pretty eyes but she never knew them to be so dangerous to her heart.

John’s eyes flicked from her face to somewhere behind her. With his free hand, he reached up and plucked out one of her bobby pins.

Claire didn’t have time to stop him, only to clutch her dismantled bun. “ _Hey_! My—“

He stretched the pin with his teeth then put it in his mouth, chewing. “Yeah, yeah. I _know_. Your hair took forever. But you’re gonna be fixin’ it all day ‘til you get to the studio. You always do. It’s not like you don’t got thousands of ‘em in your bag.”

Claire pouted, letting her hair fall down. Her scalp still itched and her hair felt disgusting with all the hair spray, but the looseness was a lot better. “You could’ve just asked for one, you know.”

John shrugged, sticking the pin in the locks’ keyhole and twisted around. “Your hair’s nice when it’s down.”

Claire watched, intrigued as well as a little disturbed, as he maneuvered the pin then scowled when nothing happened. He retracted the blade, sticking it back in his pocket. He pulled out the pin and bit it again.

“How do you know all this?”

He stuck it in the keyhole, turning. “Rob.”

Claire wondered if she’d ever actually meet Rob. She’d seen him a few times picking up John from school on his beat up bicycle. Though Rob was super tall and slim, they had the same chocolate hair color. Rob's was outrageously long, spilling past his shoulders. John's was still growing out, wisps beginning to touch his cheek.

But that was all Claire knew. Claire didn’t know the person behind the name other than the little stuff John said here and there. She knew she’d never meet their parents. Claire didn’t think she’d ever want to. They weren’t good people.

“John,” She shook her head, willing her mind away from more depressive thoughts. “This is _not_ correct.”

“Sue me.” With another twist, it unlocked.

John grinned wickedly, thrusting the door open. Claire stepped aside as he rummaged through the shelves, throwing anything he could get his hands on. 

“ _Jackpot_!” He exclaimed, pulling something in particular out from the stack of folders on the floor of the locker, holding it out in front of him. “I knew this son of a bitch had my comics!”

“I didn’t know you liked to read...”

“I _don’t_.” He said, flipping through the pages to show her all the colorful pictures before stuffing it inside his jacket. “But it’s not _really_ reading, is it?”

Claire rolled her eyes, leaning against the cool wall. It was once filled with reports and projects but now it was a ripped mess.

As John kept looking and opening the lockers, Claire thought she heard something. It didn’t sound like it was coming from him. She heard it again, a little louder. Dress shoes were tapping against concrete, and it was coming from somewhere in the hall. What's worse was that it sounded like whoever was coming this way.

“John,” She whispered closely, tugging on his sleeve impatiently. “I think—" 

“Yeah, I know.” He grabbed her hand, leading her out the back door.

She’d miss stupid things like this. 

* * *

 

If it weren’t for the situation, John’s laugh would’ve sent her feelings spiraling further down. It was rare when he smiled, much less that _she_ made _him_ laugh enough to show his dimples.

Claire huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. ”This is so _not_ funny.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Cherry,” John cradled the kitten on one arm like holding a football. “It’s not my fault she likes me more than you.”

“But I wanna hold her!”

He pushed her hand away. “You’ll hold her all the time when you’re gone. She’s your cat. Let me get a minute.”

Claire bit her lip. Everything inside her was a mess, jumbled and ready to burst. But Claire wouldn't cry about it. Crying wasn't a solution for something like this. She had to stop it. She was becoming a teenager, and big girls didn’t cry.

The moving date was less than a month away now. Her summer had been divided between friends and ballet. She was supposed to start camp but Claire didn't want to. Leonardo would be gone by the time she came back and she didn't want to miss it. She guessed that was the right excuse mom needed to hear.

She figured mom was in a good mood so Claire tried talking to her about all her feelings. After all, she was always told talking helped. Mom's solution, though? She found more reasons to fight with dad, putting Claire in the middle of their war—which solved _nothing_.

So Claire told John about it. Again. He’d being hearing the brunt of all her complaints the last few months. And if he was sad about her leaving, he never let it slip. He actually had a solution to her problem, too.

He brought her a cat. She'd always wanted a cat.

“You name her.”

“Nah,” He tickled her belly with his finger though the kitten was fast asleep on his forearm. Her paw twitched. “She’s yours.”

”And I’m telling you to name her,” Claire insisted. “ _You_ found her.”

Everything about him was hard. Tan skin and sharp, intimidating eyes combined with a tongue full of insults. He wanted everyone to believe he was so detached from this world. It protected him when it couldn’t protect him at home.

But the way he looked at this helpless, little kitten was so tender that Claire rethought everything she knew about him. She should’ve known better by now—known him way better by now. He felt like he needed to hide his frail heart.

Finally, John said, “Laureline.”

Claire tilted her head to the side. “That’s a pretty name. It sounds French. How’d you come up with it?

”I didn’t.”

”So where’d it come from?”

John’s lip curled. ”She’s from the comics I read. That’s _not_ funny, Claire.”

Smiling, she touched the small space of Laureline’s head. She purred like a machine, slightly moving to curl further into him. “I hope they let me keep her.”

”They will,” He said confidently. “Long as you ask Georgie first.”

Claire sighed against the muffled yelling from the hallway. “I’m tired of my parents fighting.”

”Join the club.”

She peeked at him, still staring down at Laureline. ”How’s your hand?”

”Better.” He replied gruffly, not wanting to continue.

Ever since that night, John _still_ kept trying to hide things from her and she _still_ kept pulling his teeth about it. He _was_ right when he told her all those years ago that somethings were better left unsaid. Claire still needed to know—even if she couldn’t stomach it. Even if it made her sad.

Even if he hated telling her.

She slipped off his fingerless glove, careful not to move his arm too much for Laureline’s sake. From the nightstand, Claire grabbed the scissors and carefully cut apart the bandage she’d wrapped around his hand a few days ago.

A jagged stream of flesh across his palm remained. Stitching it had been so disgusting, she really thought she'd throw up watching John do it. Placing his hand on her lap, she traced it with her thumbs. He’d managed to block his face from his dad’s slash—but not without the mark. He always left a mark.

She wished it would all go away. After cleaning the cigar burn, he let her put coconut oil on it for a few days at a time. But it didn’t work. Every time he lifted his sleeve, it was still there. John didn’t deserve for his body to be full of reminders.

There had to be something, something she could give him... Something that didn't bring him misery. Something that was good.

”I wish you didn’t have to go.”

John was looking at their hands too—that same look that he gave Laureline. Claire felt her heart would explode into a million, tiny pieces. She couldn’t think of any time when he’d been so open with her the same way she’d always been honest with him.

Any other time, it would’ve made her happy. But not now.

“ _Afraid_ you’ll miss me?”

“Nah,” He replied equally smug, all of that softness from before gone. “Just wondering how you’ll get by without me. It's a tough world out there.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’ll miss you, too.”

* * *

Jennifer called last night. They stayed on the phone for hours while John was knocked out with Laureline curled in a ball by his head.

She was going to Maryville, too. That made her mood lift ever so slightly. Claire liked having one more friend with her. She felt a little less scared of stepping into the unknown.

But that didn't stop her from leaving the one person behind she _really_ wanted there with her. Nobody else could compare to him.

”Laureline,” Claire whined, reaching for her again. “Come _on_!”

She hissed from John’s shoulders, back arched and her pearl colored coat stuck up like needles. Claire groaned, backing off. How was it that he managed to find a cat whose moodiness was on par with theirs?

John tried not to grin. Cradling her in one hand, he gave her over to Claire. “Be gentle, Claire. She’s sensitive.”

Claire pouted, grabbing her carefully with two hands. Thankfully, Laureline didn't hiss or squirm in Claire's hold. All she did was yowl in protest.

Her coat was as soft as a bunny’s. Laureline’s crystal eyes against her brown face were like a newborn baby’s. Ragdoll cats were _supposed_ to be friendly. How could something that looked so small and angelic actually be a demon? 

Laureline already chewed up her favorite bracelets and some of her toys were ripped at the seams. The bottom of her bed post had scratches all over, white paint peeling from the wood. Claire was getting a new set and a bigger bed for her new room but that didn't change anything. Taking care of a cat wasn't anything like she imagined. It was _work_.

And Claire didn't like this feeling—didn't like that she was the one responsible for taking Laureline away from John. He’d never say it but he loved her and she adored him. They were a match made in heaven. It'd taken Claire _years_ just to get one smile that this kitten got a thousand times in a span of a few minutes just for rolling on her back and vying for his attention.

Laureline was something good in his life, and he couldn't keep her.

“I wish you could keep her. She likes you _way_ more than me."

John shrugged, hands in his pockets. “She’ll come to like ya. Everyone does.”

" _George_!" Debra yelled restlessly from the rolled down window in the passenger seat of their BMW. "Can we _please_ get a move on? Sometime _today_ would be nice? We're already fifteen minutes behind schedule!"

Her father walked out the door promptly after, another pile of boxes in his arms. He mumbled something that Claire didn't hear but John thought it was funny. There was still space in her backseat but Claire didn't think those would fit because Leonardo always took up a lot of space with the way he sat.

Then she remembered Leonardo wasn’t with them anymore. He was gone, safely in his apartment a block away from Stanford’s campus. He would start his classes the week after Claire started school.

“Claire,” Mom started as dad popped open the trunk. ”Are you _sure_ you didn’t forget anything? Everything we need for the cat is with us, right? Your China dolls are all safely put away in boxes like I told you?”

“Yes, mom!” Claire cradled Laureline, looking up at John. "Are you sure you don't want a ride home? You know dad wouldn’t mind."

John glanced at the car, eyeing her mom. He must've not liked whatever look Debra gave him so he turned back to Claire with a raised brow. "What do you think? As much as I enjoy your mom’s _swell_ company I know she doesn’t like mine."

"That's never bothered you before."

"It doesn't," He said nonchalantly. "It bothers you."

Claire sighed, looking down at their feet.

He'd been wearing the same soiled converse ever since the last few months of the third grade. They were Rob's old shoes and John had actually been happy to get something new. He wouldn't shut up about it for days.

George slamming the trunk almost made Claire jump. “It’s time to go, honey.”

“Be there soon!” She called back.

He regarded John affectionately—almost like his second son. Leonardo looked to him almost like a little brother, too. He actually pulled him into a hug the day he left and Claire thought it was hilarious. John was so _mortified_.

“Goodbye, John.”

His face was unreadable but those big, hazel eyes betrayed everything he worked to put up. George probably didn't notice due to the distance. “It was nice knowing you, sir.”

George gave a curt wave and climbed into the driver’s seat. When the engine roared to life, everything came crashing down inside her.

Claire was out of time. There was nothing to think about anymore, nothing else to say—just _do_.

“Here." She gently placed Laureline on the floor.

Laureline actually didn’t go straight towards him. Instead, she sat and waited by their feet.

John watched, confused, as Claire dismantled her earring from her ear. Dad bought these beautiful pair of solid diamond earrings for Christmas about a year after they met. She remembered John complimenting them and thought it was really strange for a boy to say that.

But this particular boy came from nothing. He had absolutely _nothing_ valuable other than his sense of freedom—the one thing Claire _didn’t_ have. There was nothing weird about his comment at all. And he was wrong when he said that they'd never even be friends.

They always had a peculiar friendship but it was something she’d gotten used to. And he did, too, after some time. Where one lacked, the other made up for.

And now Claire was leaving and felt like she was being torn to bits like a paper shredder.

She picked his hand out from his pocket, holding it in front of them. She'd been holding his hand lately in some way. He never protested so she thought it was okay. Uncurling his fingers, Claire placed the diamond in his palm and closed his fingers around it with hers on top.

She wasn't sure if she could let him go and frankly, she didn't want to. If things went her way, she'd stay in Shermer forever—as long as he was here, too. They'd always have fun together. Every day.

“Keep it.” She said gave it a light squeeze then finally set him free along with her heart.

“Claire, I…” John caught himself, stunned. She couldn’t see but she didn’t have to. The way his mouth opened and closed was enough. “I can’t keep this.” 

“It’s yours now.” She insisted. He'd gotten his ears pierced recently, he could use something to put in it aside from that lighting bolt earring. She added nonchalantly with a shrug, “It’s not like my mom won’t make my dad buy another pair when—”

She let out a sound when his arms went around her. One snaked around her waist and the other around her shoulders. His fingers easily slid through her hair. It felt so nice and unbelievable and she was honestly  _so_ glad her hair was down today. He’d never actually touched it before like this.

It wasn’t until John squeezed her tighter against him that Claire realized she hadn’t responded. Her arms hooked under his, fingers clutching the cotton of his flannel. He breathed slow and steady against her shoulder, some of warm exhales seeping into her skin.

Her eyes shut tightly. She was glad he was composed; anything less and she'd be rendered into a hysterical mess. She didn't want a repeat of that night. She didn't need it. There was no need for tears. She'd see him again, some day.

But when John said his goodbye, so thoughtful and honest, her resolve was hit with a bat and it took every ounce of her not to shatter.

“Thanks for everything, Claire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya, I know. Y'all hate me but he'll be back.


	5. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I ran into yet another case of “I had a whole other draft written out but I ended up scraping it for this, which is why I took so long—amongst other reasons (mainly work being super fucking crazy lately.).”
> 
> Anyway.

The girls in her new dance school were so much better than her.

She’d never seen anything so precise yet so fluid from girls her age. They glided across the floor with all the grace Claire should’ve had but didn’t. Usually the older girls were the better dancers, but these girls’ half her size had absolutely perfect pirouettes. Their _fouettes_  were impeccable.

The class was already well underway for their roles in the upcoming play, _La Bayadère_. She tried, and tried, and _tried_  but she didn’t land a stand out position in the play. Claire had never been so disappointed in herself.

Still, it mattered to her mother that every movement of hers was like she’d won the role of _Giselle_. Debra wouldn’t let her live it down. But no matter how much Claire practiced her _fouette_ sets just weren’t on their level.

She ignored the pain in her leg, spinning again and again to the melody of the music with the rest of her group. Impressions were long lasting, her mother once told her. Claire tried again—still faltering at the turn kick. Her leg was going too high and her hand wasn’t parallel to her foot.

 _Keep your chest up, eyes focused_ , Claire told herself though it was hard to find an object to focus on. She’d spun too much, too fast. The whole room was a blur. She managed to catch herself before she bumped into a Amanda.

She only stopped when the others did. Hands on her hips, Claire straightened her back. Her chest heaved, lungs burning and begging for rest but she’d never let it show.

“Have you been practicing at home, Claire?”

Claire swallowed her discomfort. She didn’t realize she’d been standing there while Miss Anne had dismissed the other girls to a break.

“Yes, Miss Anne.”

“That explains the stiffness.” She mused loudly, with a hand on her proud chin. “You’re putting too much strain on your body. Never practice alone unless I give you permission to do so.”

“I’m sorry,” Her throat felt so dry. “My mother says—”

“Your mother _again_?” Miss Anne shook her head. “Claire, your mother’s opinions don’t go over my teachings. Understand?”

Claire nodded numbly, looking down at her feet. She wiggled her toes, practically feeling how they ached and popped all at once.

“Take a breather. Drink some water.” Miss Anne’s clammy palms pushed on Claire’s shoulders, guiding her towards the bench. “You’re much too young to be putting yourself through so much. It’s okay to rest. You've been eating, right?”

“Yes," She grimaced, remembering mother's outrage when she'd received a phone call from Miss Anne about that. "Thank you.”

Claire sat on the floor the remainder of the hour, watching them with an envy she didn’t think she’d ever have.

* * *

“Did you do read the chapter yet?”

“Which one?”

“The one about the civil war.” Claire said, tapping her pencil on her notes impatiently. Jennifer should’ve known; they only had third period Civics class together. “I’m stumped on number five.”

Jennifer snorted on the other end of the line. “Of course I haven’t. Do you really take me for some geek?”

Claire sighed, pressing the receiver against her cheek and shoulder to move Laureline off her textbook. The pretty kitty grumbled loudly in protest—though she’d grown so much over the months that Claire felt weird calling her ‘kitty’.

“I think the correct term is nerd. And, Jen, you can’t keep having other people do your homework for you, you know! What if we get a pop quiz tomorrow?”

“I’ll know way before. I have my ways.” She replied suggestively. “And, if push comes to shove, I’ll just copy off Michelle.”

“… Michelle, as in Michelle Taylor?” Claire’s brows furrowed. “I thought you hated Michelle? Didn’t she almost drop you off the pyramid in tryouts?”

“Neither of us got on the team so we’re on solid ground now.” Claire could hear Jennifer’s loud chewing, probably on some Twizzlers. “She says I did her a huge favor by making out with her almost boyfriend.”

“ _Jennifer_!”

“ _What_?” Claire groaned in mild disgust. “Don’t give me that! She says I saved her a lot of potential heartache!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Jen, you should really think about cutting these vices of yours.”

“’Vices’. _Ugh_!” She could hear Jennifer’s eye roll from miles away. “You make it sound like we’re twenty-six or something and suffering from alcoholism.”

“I just want you to be careful.” Claire said softly, maneuvering the phone again to take Laureline off her lap. She yowled again but didn't move from where Claire set her. “That’s all.”

“I know, but it’s not like I’m going around hooking up taken guys. I have standards, too, you know? Maybe they’re not _your_ kind of standards but—”

“I do _not_ have standards,” She interrupted hotly. “I just—”

“Yes, you do.” Claire heard some shuffling on the other end. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way, Claire. It’s a good thing. You won’t settle. I totally respect that.”

“Thanks, but… I dunno…” Claire paused. “Sometimes I kinda feel left out of the group.”

“Why? All of us love you.”

“Well, ‘cause you guys are always going on about all these boys, and all these dates and… I’ve only ever been on one.”

“Ooh. Martin, right? How’d that go, by the way? You never told me. I mean, by how much he follows you around, I can take a wild guess.”

Claire didn’t know where to start. Martin was cute in a boy-next-door way, with his curly brown hair and freckles that matched hers. They’d talked a few times and she’d been over his house for a language arts project, but…

“All we did was go to the movies. His parents took us.”

“Well, what’d you guys see?”

Claire hesitated. “Snow White.”

Jennifer laughed. “Haven’t you seen that a million times already? You own it on video.”

“I was nervous, _okay_?” Claire said hastily and Jennifer laughed harder, almost snorting. “Jennifer! I’m trying to talk to you, stop laughing! This is serious.”

“All right, all right. Sorry.” Jennifer cleared her throat. “Then what?”

Claire bit into the eraser. “He kissed me.”

“… Oh, God. That’s why you’ve been ignoring him like the flu.”

“He stuck his tongue in my mouth and I just…” Claire shivered. She wanted to forget how his sloppy, wet tongue felt in her mouth. “Ugh!”

“Boys are dumb. I like to think it’s just ‘cause they don’t know any better but, sometimes, I’m surprised at how much they just don’t get us.”

“It was so so so gross. I was so embarrassed, Jen!” Claire rubbed her temple with her fingers, everything she’d been keeping in finally spilling. “I didn’t know what to do! Honestly, I wanted to die.”

“Aw, Claire! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for it—he just assumed it was the right thing to do after a date.”

“I don’t think I ever wanna kiss a guy again.”

“We all go through some hiccups,” Jennifer said in that gentle, motherly way that was too old for someone who was only thirteen. “Not everyone’s lucky to get a nice first kiss. Don’t think too much about it. You’ll find the one you never wanna stop kissing.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Claire sighed, chewing on her lip. “I just wish I knew what to say to him. He hasn’t stopped trying to talk to me. I think he wants a second date.”

“Just tell him the truth.” Jennifer said simply.

“I can’t do that.”

“Well. I mean, yeah, you shouldn't. But you don’t have to tell him it’s ‘cause he was bad. Just tell him you don’t like him the same way he likes you—which you don’t, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s practically harmless. Boys are dense and you gotta be affirmative.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely! I haven’t been wrong yet.”

The light knock on her door didn’t frighten her though Claire had forgotten she wasn’t home alone for a change. Laureline’s hiss by her side was a dead giveaway to who it was.

“Claire? Can I come in?”

Claire placed the receiver on her shoulder to muffle her yell. “Yes. Come in!”

Her mom opened the door, looking every bit as porcelain perfection as usual. Her brown eyes were muddy and bloodshot—which meant nothing good. It was hard to tell whether she’d been drinking or crying.

Claire whispered into the receiver. “Hey, Jen? I’ll call you back. My mom’s here.”

“Yikes! Call me back later! Bye!”

“Bye.” Claire hung up, her pink receiver back in its socket.

“Was that Jennifer?”

“Yes. She calls me almost every day. We help each other with homework.” She finished lamely.

“I like her,” Her mom smiled, standing awkwardly by her bed. “She’s a better friend for you—much quieter and well mannered than that boy. Things are peaceful now that he isn’t here.”

Claire hid the sting in her eyes by looking down at her paper, at the textbook on her other side—anywhere that wasn’t her mom’s face. _You never even got to know him_ , Claire thought while biting back a scream.

John was always in the back of her mind lately. Claire wasn't sure why she still checked her mail box every day. There was never anything for her. He never called either.

The only indication he’d existed was the pink blanket he'd sewn for her—which Laureline used as a personal mat—and a missing earring. Claire didn’t expect anything from him but she was still disappointed. She just wanted to know if he was okay.

The kitten didn’t understand what was going on but her tension by Claire’s thigh made her think otherwise. Laureline was weirdly perceptive just like John.

“So, um, why’re you here, mother?”

“Am I now allowed to see my own daughter?” She asked icily.

“Of course you can… But I’m a little bit preoccupied at the moment.” She gestured towards her bed, where her Civics textbook and notes were open.

Debra scoffed snobbishly. "I hardly get to see you, Claire, considering you spend most of your time with your new friends or with your father. It’s like I don’t have a daughter sometimes. My own son doesn’t even bother to call. Can you believe that?”

That was a big, fat lie—and Debra knew it, too—but Claire didn’t say any of that. She wasn't sure where Debra got her delusions from. Every conversation with her mother was a broken record. It started with passive aggressive comments and ended with Claire in tears.

Claire swallowed her pride, just this once. “I’m sorry.”

Debra waved her off, turning on her heel. “I want you to come downstairs and have dinner with me. There’s some things we need to discuss.”

Claire knew nothing good was coming out of this.

* * *

George was passed out on his desk when Claire came downstairs to grab a late night snack. She hadn’t eaten much all day and was starving. There were leftovers but she just wanted something light.

Turning off the main lamp by the threshold, Claire rubbed his tense back soothingly. Mother used to do this for him very many years ago, though memories like that were starting to feel fake.

”Your honor..." He muttered, burying his head deeper in his arms. "...objection... the law states…”

"C'mon, daddy.” Claire gripped his shoulder, gently shaking. "Wake up. It’s late.”

His eyes shot open, highly alert. George relaxed right away when it was just Claire.

He groaned into his arms. "I can’t believe I fell asleep in here again."

Claire softly chuckled. “Big case?”

“It’s my first big break. It’s taken me a few months and a lot of hands to put together.”

She bit her toast, chewing thoughtfully. “When’s the trial?”

“Tuesday.”

“I hope you win.”

“Winning isn’t my ambition. I want my client to be happy with the outcome.”

George finally sat up against the chair, stretching though he couldn’t with his suspenders and worn out suit. He glanced at the clock, rubbing the rocks out of his eyes.

“And shouldn’t you be in bed? It's late. You have school in the morning.”

"It's _Friday_ , daddy." She held up her toast with Nutella spread. “I just came down for a snack and thought I should wake you up.”

His smile was withered. "I forgot. Thank you for that.”

He'd grown so old ever since they left Shermer. George wasn’t forty yet but he looked beyond his years. Prominent bags decorated his eyes and wrinkles were starting to cover every inch of his face. Grey strands mixed with his once rich, red hair. He never bothered to style it like he used to.

It broke her heart. Things weren’t the same since they’d left Shermer.

“Oh,” She said, hoping to get her mind off depressing thoughts. “Jennifer invited me over next weekend. It might be a sleepover.”

“That’s great, honey,” He said lightly. “But you don’t have to ask. You know you can go whenever."

“I would, but… Mom says I can’t. She has something planned for us Saturday afternoon.”

She didn’t miss the scowl as George started organizing his papers he’d drooled on. ”Don't listen to your mother, Claire. Just go."

Claire chewed on the last bit of her toast. “She told me, by the way.”

“What do you—“ George’s face contorted, understanding. He leaned back against the recliner as far as it would go. “Of _course_  she did! I shouldn’t expect anything less from her! I thought we’d agreed on waiting until the right moment to tell you. Why does she _always_  go over my wishes?“

Claire looked at her feet. Ever since she was old enough to start remembering, she’d known her parents would never last. Her mother was always spending their money on big, unnecessary vacations or in vineyards with her girlfriends. George was a workaholic.

When Debra casually told Claire about their plans to divorce over dinner, Claire wasn’t the least bit shocked. Leonardo and Claire weren’t babies any more. There wasn’t a reason for them to stick together other than convenience on Debra’s end.

“I’ll have to choose.” Claire said softly.

It was the thing she hated most. They were both screwed. She was just so angry and so miserable and felt like the only person she could really talk to was Laureline. If it were really up to her, she’d live with Leonardo. 

“Yes,” George gave Claire his full attention. He must’ve sensed the turmoil in her head that she couldn’t understand. “It’s one of the conditions we surprisingly agreed on.”

“You’re moving out.”

“I am.” He confirmed with a nod. “But not until the papers are signed. Your mother wants this house.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I’m not sure… Once the case is over, I’ll start looking—somewhere within Illinois. I’ll be gone by the time you’re starting high school.”

Claire inhaled shakily. “Am I going to have to go to court?”

“Yes. You’ll be required to give your verdict.” His eyes turned sad. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Claire.”

“No, it’s okay, I just…” She inhaled again and George got off the chair. “I guess… I wanna know why this didn’t happen sooner.”

“Because I loved your mother once.” He said earnestly, pulling her into a warm hug that’d Claire didn’t realize she’d been craving. “And I thought she did too. That’s why we got married, after all. I thought moving here would help us as a family. I really did.”

“It didn’t.” Claire said bitterly against his chest.

“I know that now and I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I didn't mean to drag you into this. It all ended up being a waste of time and money and the inevitable. Sometimes... Love’s just not enough.”

 _I don’t believe that_ , Claire thought as she hugged him back. She buried her head in his dress shirt, still holding in the tears that threatened to spill. _I don’t believe that one bit._


	6. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know. I’m a boring writer sometimes.
> 
> Warning: mentions of [underage] drinking.

* * *

“Be ready.” Jennifer announced, rolling the combination to her locker.

Claire carefully dabbed the cream all over her neck. “Ready for what?”

“The Spanish test. It was killer.” She said dramatically, fixing the top button of their white uniform shirt. “I thought it’d never end.”

“Why’d you have to tell me that?” Claire groaned, stomping her feet. “I should’ve _neve_ r let you talk me into taking Spanish. We didn't even end up in the same period!”

“Hey, it’s our last year together and you know how we work. I jump, you jump after me.” Jennifer combed through her brown hair with her fingers. “As long as you studied you’ll be fine. Did you?”

“I’ve only been complaining about it _all_ week over the phone.”

“I remember. You’ll be okay. At least you try. I don’t.”

Jennifer’s head was always into bigger and better things—as she liked to say. “Not surprising.”

“Exactly. It really pays to sit next to smart kids.”

Jennifer fixed her lip gloss with her finger. Claire grabbed Jennifer’s spare brush, carefully fixing her bangs. Over the years, she let her hair grow out. All the other girls had long hair and she didn’t want to be left out. Now that it was past her shoulders, she wasn’t sure if she even liked it.

“Are you grounded next weekend?”

“I think so but my dad told me just to blow her off.”

“Well, Marilyn’s throwing a party. I don’t have a costume but we should totally go. I'll have my mom call your mom with the usual.”

“She hasn’t told me anything about it.”

Jennifer paused, blinking. “Oh.”

Claire’s brow rose in suspicion. “‘Oh’?”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” After checking herself one last time, Jennifer shut her locker. “It’s probably nothing bad. I could be overthinking. Regardless, you’re invited by me so I don’t think she’ll mind.”

A familiar blue sweater caught Claire’s eye. He was quick, molding into the crowd perfectly.

“Hey, Jen?” Claire squeezed her arm. “I’ll see you after school. I need to talk to someone really quick before class.”

“Cool.” She flipped her hair, her flowery perfume making Claire’s nose crinkle as she walked in the opposite direction. “See you soon.”

Claire couldn’t keep up with him. There were too many kids in the hallway on their way to fifth period and Andrew was walking way too fast.

“Andy! Wait up!”

The once receiver slowed down reluctantly. Last night was one of the worst games, said by many of her classmates. Claire didn’t know much about football—despite being at every game thanks to Jennifer being on the cheerlading squad—but it couldn’t _entirely_  be Andrew’s fault.

Claire squeezed through the last set of people to get by his side. “Hi.”

“Hey, Claire. Sorry, but now’s not a good time.” Andrew’s brows were knit and his eyes were stormy. “I’m gonna be late for math.”

Andrew hadn’t grown much taller over the years. He gained whatever he didn’t receive in height through muscle mass. He wasn’t too muscular though, he was lean and just right for his age. A lot of her friends wanted to be with him and Claire guessed she could see why.

“My class is right by yours, remember?” She offered lightly.

“Sorry. Forgot.”

“It’s fine.” Their walk was all kinds of awkward. He was rigid and unyiedling.

 _“Hey, Clarke_!” Someone yelled behind them but Andrew didn’t look back. “ _What kinda catch was that_?"

" _He might be better off bowling_.”

“ _At least we’ll have a chance of a championship there_.”

Andrew didn’t answer, clenching his jaw instead.

Claire just spit it out, not being able to take anymore. “I heard you quit the team.”

“That’s not even the half of it.” He muttered.

Claire waved at Francesca Ramon from her Language Arts class. “Still, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Don’t be.” He said dismissively. “You didn’t miss the ball and cost the game. I did. You don’t have a losing streak. I do. And you don’t practically have the whole school pissed at you again. I do.”

She wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, give him a hug— _anything_ —but she couldn’t with the amount of books she was carrying. She wasn’t sure if Andrew would want that either. He looked ready to pounce at any second.

“It’s okay to make a lot of mistakes, Andy. As long as you learn from them.”

“Tell that to my old man.” He said curtly, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the strap of his book bag. “He wants me to be Achilles with no heel. He can’t get it through his thick, fucking head that I’m human enough to mess up just like everyone else.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter what he, or anyone, says. It’s okay to mess up.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure those terms don’t exist in my old man’s vocabulary.”

Claire pursed her lips. “I understand perfectly… It’s the same with my mom.”

“I gotta go, Claire,” He tried again, softening considerably. “It’s not that I don’t wanna talk to you but—“

“I get it. You wanna be alone.” She smiled fondly. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it a lot.” He smiled back, though sad, opening the yellow door of his Pre-Algebra class. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Claire nodded with a small wave, knowing they probably wouldn’t. “Bye.”

Her Intro to Spanish class was a few doors down. She greeted Mr. Aguirre and her acquaintances before heading to her seat towards the back of the class. Marilyn said they’d have more privacy due to Mr. Aguirre’s bad vision.

Chewing on her pencil’s eraser, Claire took one last look at her notes of Spanish vocabulary and phrases. She was starting to taste the rubber. She _knew_ she should’ve gone with her gut and taken Intro to French instead. She was mildly fluent. Her grandparents only spoke French. It would’ve been an easy A and less of a mind boggle.

“Claire! Did I really just _hear_ right?”

Claire jumped as Marilyn slid into the seat next to her. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Marilyn! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry!” She smiled sheepishly, make-up recently retouched. “I’m just shocked about what I heard. Someone told me they saw you talking to Andrew Clarke.”

“Yeah, I’ve known him forever.” Claire replied nonchalantly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Francesca probably told. “We went to elementary together.”

“No _wonder_ you were so down last night after the game. You guys must be close but I’ve never seen you talk to him.”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know him like I used to. We’ve grown apart.”

“ _Bummer_ ,” Claire already knew what was coming before Marilyn uttered a sentence. “You guys would make a great couple now that he’s broken up with Katy and you’re over Samuel.”

“I’m not interested.”

Marilyn took it surprisingly well. “Understandable.”

The rest of the students standing in groups took their seats as the bell rang. The few kids that were always tardy popped in. Mr. Aguirre wasn’t strict on attendance as as he was on whether they responded to him in Spanish.

He rose from his desk, a stack of papers in one hand.

“ _Buenos días y bienvenidos a otro día_.” He started down the aisle closest to him, handing out the test face down. “ _Espero que estén preparados_.”

Claire closed her spiral notebook, placing it in the tray underneath her chair. Marilyn kept her bag on her lap. The answers to the test were probably hidden somewhere inside.

“Hey," Marilyn whispered. "Do you mind putting in a good word for me?”

"What?"

"For Andrew. Like, mention my name to him next time. Maybe?"

“I’ll try to remember whenever I see him again.”

“Thanks!” She whispered happily. “Are you doing anything next weekend?“

“Not sure yet,” Claire rolled her shoulders. “Might be grounded again.”

“ _Again_? Why?”

“I’ve given up trying to understand my mother.”

“Well… If you need a getaway, my parents are letting me throw a Halloween party next week. Costumes aren’t mandatory.”

“I’ll see if I can make it.”

Mr. Aguirre placed the paper face down on Claire’s desk, staring pointedly at Marilyn with his beady eyes. “ _Por favor, guarda tus cosas_.”

“ _Si_ , uh… _maestro_.” Marilyn responded politely, doing as she was told.

He slid the paper on her desk. ” _Espero que lo hagas mejor que la última vez, Marilyn_.”

Mr. Aguirre turned his back on them.

“What did he say?”

”Something about how you could do better.” 

Marilyn’s sneer clashed with her pretty features. “Asshole.”

Claire took a peek at the test and let out a huge sigh of relief. It was everything they’d learned sincerely started the course— translating simple words and phrases into Spanish.

When Mr. Aguirre was finally finished and walking back to his desk, Claire flipped over the page and started writing. They had the entire hour to finis. It was only twenty questions.

The smell of strong plum pulled her out of her concentration. Marilyn was leaning dangerously close to her side.

”What’re you _doing_?”

“You don’t mind if I copy off you again, right?”

Claire pouted. Lifting her arm, she pushed the sheet towards the corner.

* * *

She couldn’t believe Christmas was already around the corner.

Just last week was Marilyn’s Halloween party. Against her mother’s wishes, Claire went. The last time she’d ever dressed up for Halloween was when she was a toddler. Her father thought she’d look cute as a ladybug. The pictures were still in his wallet.

She didn’t have a costume this year but she still put together something pretty, breaking in the new Dolce & Gabbana heels she’d bought a few weeks prior. She’d lost them that night and wasn’t sure how. Claire couldn’t remember anything except the hangover the next morning in Jennifer’s bed.

“Are you _sure_ everything’s ready?” Her mother asked, heel clicking on the hardwood floor a mile per minute. Laureline was tense as always by Claire’s side. “Absolutely positive? I don’t want a re-run of last year.”

“Yes.” George answered, nose buried in the _Chicago Times_  newspaper at the dinner table. “The floors are polished. The tree has been up for weeks. The curtain’s been changed. All we need is the photographer to get here.”

Debra eyed Laureline. “And, Claire, make sure you leave the cat in the room. I don’t want her running up the tree again when we take pictures.”

“Yes, mother.” She responded though she fought back a scowl. Claire unfolded her legs and Laureline took it upon herself to lay across her lap.

Debra wanted one last family photo, just to save face to her friends. She received all their Christmas cards, bubbling with jealousy and took it out on George. Claire thought it was a ridiculous idea. It was just a disaster waiting to unfold—just like the year before.

“George, do you think you could give them a call?” She checked over her ruby red nails. “I’m having dinner with the board in a few hours and I don’t want to be late.”

“If there was a problem, they would’ve found a way to call by now.” He deflected easily, flipping a page. “I won’t bother them when there isn’t an issue.”

“The issue, _George_ , is that they said they would be here by two.” She checked her watch that she bought last week just for this occasion. “It’s already one forty-six. The others were here by one-thirty and setting up.”

“Debra, just wait patiently.” George flipped the page. “It’s still early. You’re acting like a child.”

“ _I’m_  acting like a child? Why can’t you do me this _one_  favor?” She asked rhetorically, voice rising. “I don’t ask much of you, George!”

George grumbled, and Claire thought he said something along the lines of, “Here we go.”

“I’ve heard tales—I’ve _seen_ the statistics of wives who’ve asked their husbands to move out right away. But I haven’t.” She glared. “I _could’ve_  asked for your money, too. I've handled all your investments for years. I know just how much you have but all I’ve asked for is this beautiful home in my name. I could’ve taken away your right to Claire away but—”

“ _Stop._ ” He said in a warning tone. “Just stop. That’s enough. Claire’s _here_.”

“Oh, what does it matter now? She’s old enough to understand.” Debra threw her hands up. “She doesn’t care about me anymore. She made that _very_ clear when she chose you.”

“Debra, I think you need a drink.”

“Hm. You know, George? You may just be right.” Debra stood up, heels clicking as she walked to the kitchen.

“Or the whole bottle.” Claire mumbled.

Debra whirled around. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, mother,” Claire held up her hand. “I just found something in Laureline’s fur.”

Her mother’s lip curled. “Make sure there’s no hair on the couch.”

Laureline hopped off, purposely avoiding her mother. She looked like she was going towards the front of the house. Claire took it as a sign that she wanted to go out and she was more than happy to oblige.

As she stood up, Claire pulled down the hem of her dress. The satin and color were completely unflattering. Debra begged her to wear it just for this. The first thing she’d do after this stupid photoshoot was rip it up.

Debra took a sip of the _Concha y Toro_ she’d finished pouring in the glass. “And where do you think you’re going, Claire?”

“Let her go.” George said dejectedly.

“But _where_ is she going? Do you know?”

“It doesn’t matter. The house is gated and she can’t get out. She’s _my_  responsibility now and I say it’s okay for her to leave if she chooses to.”

“ _Your_ responsibility? I gave birth to that child as I did to Leonardo. What did—”

The same way she turned the knob of the front door, Claire shut her mind off to her parents.

The sun was in full blaze in the clear blue sky. It was cold, with a gust, but it was still a perfect day—though things around here were less than perfect. It was going to snow later in the week and she always loved the way this neighborhood looked under blankets of snow.

George must’ve forgotten that he’d left the gates wide open for the photographer. It would be so easy for her to walk out on everything. She wanted to. But she couldn’t do it. She’d always wished for John’s sense of freedom, how he just came and went whenever he so pleased. She wondered if he was still like that.

The cold made her tremble, along with her anger, but she refused to go back inside. Their yells were muffled through the door but it didn’t stop how much it hurt. Why did it still hurt?

Claire took a seat on the bench that decorated the corner of their porch. Her first thought was to call Jennifer. Jennifer always listened. But she was on a plane to England for the winter. A family thing she did every year. Instead, Claire put her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, and cried.

The end of the school year couldn’t come any quicker. George actually found a house in Shermer. It was two stories with a nice front lawn but Claire didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about any of that stuff, not like mom. She just wanted to be out of here and never come back.

“Claire? Is that you?” Her head shot up. “What’re you doing out here without a jacket? It’s freezing!”

“ _Leo_?”

Leonardo helped close the trunk of the Taxi cab. Placing a few bills in the driver’s hand, Leonardo thanked him and wished him happy holidays.

Laureline’s yowling was loud and happy. She met him halfway on his walk towards the door. Claire was frozen like the tear tracks on her cheeks, unable to formulate a sentence.

“Laureline, look at you!” He held out his arms and Laureline jumped right into them with an agility only cats had. “God, you were so little when I left. What happened? What’s she been feeding you?”

Claire wiped her cheeks, chuckling softly. “The vet says she’s supposed to be like that. She’s only nine pounds.”

“ _Right_.” Laureline rubbed her face against his stubble as he walked towards the house with his bags. “You know, Johnny-boy’s gonna be mad when he sees how fat his cat’s gotten.”

“‘His’ cat.” Claire scoffed, her feet back on the wood and crossed her arms stubbornly. “He doesn’t remember me much less her. And she’s _not_ fat.”

Leonardo blinked, confused. “He still hasn’t called?”

“No.”

“He probably has a good reason.” He set Laureline down and she trotted up the steps. “Don’t be so hard on him.”

“I doubt it.”

“You never know.” He paused, green eyes darting between Claire and the door the front door. He must’ve heard the yelling.

“I dunno if it’s a good or bad thing whether things haven’t changed.”

Claire stood up, inhaling though it was ragged. “We’re supposed to do the Christmas cards.”

“Ah, _those_.” He said with a sneer he’d gotten from mom. “That’s how you know it’s the worst time of year.”

“And there’s the divorce.”

His eyes softened. “I know.”

Leonardo dropped his bags, scooping Claire up easily. She didn’t think he was strong but maybe she was just too light. He was taller than she remembered; tall enough that her feet dangled. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her chin resting on his shoulder blade.

Leonardo sighed exasperatedly into her hair. “Don’t take it to heart, Claire. We both knew it was coming someday.”

She nodded. “I know. It still doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

“I know, but those are the cards we were dealt with,” He set her down, eyeing her carefully. “Are you okay, though?”

Claire rolled her shoulder’s innocently. “I’m handling it.”

“I see _that_. But I’m asking if you’re okay.”

 _No_ , she thought, but she'd lie, and smile, and tell everyone that she was—because that's what she was taught. “I think I’m as okay as I’ll ever be.”

“I’m sorry it’s been a while.” He took off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “I meant to come last year—really, any time sooner—but it’s just been so crazy.”

”It’s okay.”

”I never expected university to have so much work, and actual work, and projects, and lectures, and… I feel like I’m a walking zombie most days.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Two weeks,” He picked up his bag and slug it over his shoulder. “Christmas vacation. I don’t have any exams to prepare for—for once.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” Claire smiled, hugging him again instead of crying. “I’m glad you’re here. I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too, kiddo.”

He hugged her back with one hand and ruffled her hair with the other. Claire always hated when he did that. The gesture made her feel like a little kid. She’d let it slide this time.

“Wait until mom finds out I came in a taxi.” He said mischievously. “And when she finds out I have a part time job at the grocery store. She’s gonna flip out. Be ready to call the ambulance.”

For the first time in a long time, Claire laughed. Leonardo placed his arm around her shoulder, guiding her towards the front door.

”You should’ve been here last year,” Claire sniffed. “She almost had a heart attack ‘cause of something Laureline did.”

”Yeah?" He smiled. "Tell me about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I updated twice in two days? Now it’s time to draft out the next chapter and end up rewriting it a month from now lol.
> 
> Btw, I appreciate all you anonymous reviewers/people with no accounts so much. Y'all keep me going as much as those with accounts!!


	7. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, one particular scene was inspired by Luna Lovegood in Harry Potter. Allison and her have some similarities that I can draw inspiration from.

“So! My mom and I managed to get a Saturday to ourselves, so we went to the mall—“ Lila Evans, one of her junior friends, appeared by her side in the crowded hallway. “—and we—“

“Where _were_ you earlier, Lila?” Claire asked, never breaking her stride towards the cafeteria. “That’s your second tardy in three weeks! I can’t _believe_ I had to cover for you again!”

Lila pursed her lips, looking away innocently. “Well, see, I was having this really good dream about Bob Marley _not_ being dead when my alarm went off... And it somehow ended up on the floor… And by the time I actually woke up, it was past nine. So, I missed the bus again. And walked to school… Again.”

Claire sighed exasperatedly. “You broke it again, didn’t you? Have you thought about having more than one?”

“We both know I’d need ten of ‘em at a time. I love my sleep and nothing will get in the way of it.”

She looked away, raising her brows in disbelief. “I’ve noticed.”

“ _Besides_ , what’s the worst that can happen?” She asked, cocky. “Vernon’s gonna throw me in Saturday detention? It’s not the worst thing in the world. My mom—if she ever found out—on the other hand…”

“I guess not.” Claire shrugged. “Just looks bad on your record.”

“Come _on_ , Claire! What’s _one_ unfortunate misconduct against all my achievements? I’m telling you, it pays to be part of clubs.” She flipped her braids over exposed shoulder effortlessly. The new tawny color complimented Lila’s sepia skin. If computer engineering didn’t work out, Lila would have a promising career in the beauty industry.

“True, just costs your social life.” Claire commented.

“I’m not bothered by it but, _anyway_. As I was saying before you interrupted me: I saw the most _gorgeous_ shoes at Saks Fifth. They were nude, ankle booties and… _Ugh_. Just so me.”

“Sounds like you didn’t get them…”

“Girl, I wish.” She replied with a pout. “I’ve been in agony about it since I left them by the aisle.”

“Well, how come?”

“They were designers, by Guess.”

“ _Oh_.”

Lila shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“They’ll probably go on sale by Black Friday.” Claire offered.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a job before I go to college. Shoes aside, I _really_ need a car.” Her teal finger nails tapped in a rhythm on the binder Lila held against her chest. “I’m seventeen and still asking my mom for things I should be able to get on my own. She has enough on her plate. And maybe I can help out with bills while I’m still here…”

“Maybe you’ll get them for Christmas.”

Lila smiled brightly. “Aw! Are you offering?”

“Could be a Secret Santa thing… Although, I guess you’d already know.” Claire leaned into her. “And I meant I’d get you the shoes, not a car. A hundred dollar purchase wouldn’t be anything special to my father, but he’d definitely turn his head about a grand.”

“I _wish_ I had my own credit card.” She frowned deeply. “I already have my license but I can’t do anything without a car. Having a credit card would be one step closer to independence.”

“It’s not as good as they make it out to be.”

Lila rolled her eyes playfully. “Spoken like a true richie.”

“I mean it, though! With more money comes more problems.”

“Okay, okay. Touchy subject, I see. But you should loan me some.” Lila added gently, brushing their arms. “It’ll fix a lot of our problems. Last week was the water. I can tell the AC’s next.”

Claire smiled sadly. “I would, if I could.”

“I know. You’re too sweet, Claire.” She placed her arm around Claire’s shoulders. “ _Way_ too sweet to be caught up with the likes of those.”

She hesitantly glanced around, making sure no one paid attention. Shermer High School started up three months ago and she already knew most of the passing faces. Amanda Frost—a junior, and the most popular girl in school had taken Claire under her wing. It wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. Girls like Amanda never did anything without _reasons_.

“They’re not the worst.” Claire muttered a half truth.

Lila’s smirk was slow to form. “That’s a nice way of saying they’re pretty awful.”

They _were_ nice, to Claire’s face. But their three-second rebound rate when other people were present spoke more volumes than their plastered smiles. Claire wasn’t sure what they said when she wasn’t around. Frankly, she didn’t _want_ to know. She was fine living in an illusion.

“They’re good to hang out with… And other stuff.”

She retracted her arm. “You’re a horrible liar, girl, but it’s okay. I respect that you won’t talk like they do. You’re better than them.”

“Am I?” She asked. “Sometimes, I don’t think so…”

“You _can_ associate with different people.” She asserted as compassionate as possible. “It’s _not_ wrong, you know? You’re not morally obligated to stick to what you know. It’s good to branch out sometimes.”

Claire nodded numbly, her mind lost on a journey to the past. “You’re right…”

”Always am!” Lila winked. “But, Claire? If you ever need to talk to someone you know I’m here. I’m more than just your model—though, I can’t say it’s been an unpleasant experience. You have an eye for photography.”

“Shit. Photography.” Claire groaned, almost slapping her forehead. ”We need to re-do the shoot. Mr. Guist said I messed up with the shutter speed. We need to use a tripod this time.”

Lila sighed dramatically, stopping in the hall and opening her binder. “I’ll find a way to fit you in my schedule. Again.”

* * *

“That Allison girl’s _so_ bizarre.” Amanda said at their front and center lunch table. Anyone coming out of the line would have to pass by them unless they were heading outside.

Claire didn’t _want_ to but it slipped out, “What makes you say that?”

“I heard a story about the time her sneakers were stolen.” Amanda paused. “She didn’t even report it or go to the Lost and Found. She just walked around in her socks the whole day. How unbelievably gross is that?”

“She’s so stoic, too.” Cindy, a freshman like Claire, pipped in while nibbling on her French fry. “I asked her for a pencil once and she couldn’t be bothered to show any emotion. Not a smile. _Nothing_. I mean, she did give it to me, but… still. And her nail beds were dirty.”

“I don’t think the girl has any friends.” Michelle Manning, a sophomore, added while checking her nails she’d just gotten done last night. “I heard she eats in the bathroom.”

 _That’s sad,_ Claire thought mindlessly, focusing on her Cesar salad. She’d been _so_ hungry before. Now that there was some semblance of food in front of her, she couldn’t bring herself to eat it. Years of diet regiments were hard to let go of.

“That’s not _sad_ , Claire,” She looked up to Amanda’s raised brow. Claire didn’t think she said that out loud. “On the contrary, it’s _disgusting_.”

“Well, yeah. It is pretty disgusting, but—“

“She does it to herself.” Amanda interrupted in that snooty way of hers Claire hated from the very beginning.

“Have you guys seen that god awful hobo bag she carries around?” Michelle said. “I can’t believe her mother actually lets her walk out like that.”

“I feel sorry for you, hon.” Amanda said, fixing her makeup in the compact mirror she always kept on her. “But… The project’s only two weeks, right? You’ll be free soon enough.”

A quick glance at her watch read lunch was about to be over in five minutes. She couldn’t take much more of this. She missed her old friends, even Marilyn—even if all she did was copy off her. At least Marilyn had better things to talk about.

After Coach Britton finished reading his list of assigned partners—and against all of Cindy’s warnings—Claire sat next to Allison Reynolds to discuss their English project. Yeah, Allison’s clothes _were_ decades out of style, and upclose she could see the specks of dandruff in her coarse hair, and she didn’t speak or even acknowledge her presence, but none of that mattered.

They were partners and Claire was stuck. Though she couldn’t tell which of the two situations were worse.

* * *

In her room Friday afternoon, Claire scowled again.

Her fingers flattened the wrinkles of the paper she’d picked out of the Coach Britton’s Georgetown hat on Wednesday. How the hell were they supposed to write a short story about a _comforter_ without being able to use the word? And make it no less than a thousand words and no longer than three pages? She twisted her lips into a frown. _This is so unfair!_

Huffing, Claire looked up. Allison was still standing by the threshold. Her hands clutched the strap of her bag tightly. She _hated_ that these girls were right. She _hated_ that she was gradually falling into their ways no matter how much she fought it.

“Sit anywhere.” Claire said, gesturing with her hand. “Sorry it’s not clean. I was running late this morning and finding a pair of stockings turned into a conquest. Most of them were ripped and I gave up.”

Allison stepped into Claire’s room, careful not to step on Laureline who was vying for Allison’s attention. Her eyes roamed, bouncing on every piece of furniture, every picture frame, like she was looking around a Vegas hotel lobby.

Claire didn’t think her room was anything special. It was just as big as the one back in Pipertown except this one was painted mint green as opposed to the pink her mother had chosen for her old one. White accents—threshold, bed post, drawers—helped the color pop.

Or, maybe… Allison was noticing the blatant differences between them—if she hadn’t already. A tiny speck of black in a world full of pastels. Claire took a wild guess on how Allison’s room was.

“So…” Claire trailed off, watching Allison still walking around the room. “How’re we gonna make this work? I was thinking we could describe it, you know? Like a commercial? But that sounds really bad.”

Allison gnawed on her lip. Claire thought she’d finally say something but she was met with the same silence that accompanied Allison wherever she went.

Claire sighed, back against her pillows. “We’re _so_ gonna fail. I’m not a good writer. I’m average on my best day.”

She pouted, still receiving nothing. Claire sat up as Allison plopped down on the chair by the bookshelf. She grinned, happy as a child, bouncing on it.

She thought John was the weirdest person she’d ever met. He’d always done everything out of his own accord, acting like he didn’t care what anyone thought. Allison made him look ordinary—which Claire thought was pretty much next to impossible until now.

Her lips twisted into another frown. He was becoming more of a distant memory with each passing day. Sometimes, she thought it was a dream. A really good dream that wasn’t meant to be remembered forever. But Laureline was real, and her diamond was still missing its sister, so it couldn't have been. Right? She needed to forget about him. He’d clearly forgotten about her.

She propped her legs, using them as a surface for her binder. The pages were still blank. Claire was on the verge of giving up.  _It’s still the beginning of the school year_ , she thought, tapping the pencil's eraser on the sheet, _I can take_ one _bad grade. Father won’t ground me to the end of the century like mother did_.

“You were a ballerina.”

Allison’s back was to her but Claire could see her awestruck expression through the mirror. One by one, Allison picked up the trophies that sat neatly on the wall shelf.

“Oh. Yeah. I thought everyone knew that by now...” Claire replied. “My mom put me in it when I was a kid. I just quit this year, before coming back to Shermer.”

“That’s really…” Allison struggled, picking up her rose gold trophy she'd gotten when Claire was still in Shermer. It was her favorite. She’d gotten it for best performer in the production of _La Esmeralda_. “… Cool.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to lie.”

She placed it back down, making sure it was in the same spot she’d grabbed it from. “I’m not.”

“ _Sure_.” Claire folded her legs on top of the other as Allison started the path towards her bed. “Most people think it makes me stuck up.”

“It doesn’t.” She said after a pause.

Claire’s brow rose curiously. “Really?”

Allison nodded, plopping down on the edge of her bed. There was a huge space between them but Claire could still see like they were up close again. Under her heavy mascara and blackest of black eyeliner, Allison had brown eyes—so close to warm caramel.

“Why’d you quit?”

Claire waved her hand aimlessly. “I didn’t like it anymore, no big reason. What about you? What can you do?”

Allison opened her mouth, then closed it. Several times. Claire thought back to Michelle’s comment. This was probably the first real conversation Allison must’ve ever had and a little piece of her—a piece she'd thought was long dead—stirred.

“I can write with my toes.”

Claire’s brows rose. She was at a loss. Allison pulled her lips tightly and looked away.

“Wait, no, Allison.” She nudged Allison’s shoulder with her foot. The last thing Claire wanted to do was judge her even more than she already had. “Keep going!”

Allison swallowed thickly, finally meeting her gaze. “I can also eat… Brush my teeth…”

Claire let out a soft chuckle. “With your _feet_?”

Allison smiled shyly, her cheeks pink. “And play _Heart and Soul_  on the piano.”

"Oh, my God. That’s so old! My grandfather used to play that for me. But that’s still so cool.” Claire complimented with a smile. “Totally nuts but really cool.”

Allison made a weird sound—like an animal squeak or something—and took the paper sitting on top of the binder. It was one word, the same word that wouldn’t disappear no matter how much Claire stared at it. To Allison it must’ve been like reading a novel.

“Shitty, right?” Claire asked above her silence. “Cindy—you know, that girl I sit next to in English?—ended up getting cloth. I think that’s easier. There’s so much you can do with that.”

Allison clenched her jaw, her brows furrowed in concentration, and she looked to the side when Laureline meowed. Her pretty self-sat on Claire’s bed, padding her tail on the navy comforter. She lifted her paw, tapping on Claire’s forearm.

Clare scratched the spot on her forehead she always loved. Laureline closed her eyes in complete bliss, a smile tugging her lips. It’d taken a while—a whole year, really—but Laureline did come to like her… Or at least tolerate her. Claire could live with that. It was better than before, with her constant hissing and tearing up her bed.

“Write about her.” Allison said abruptly.

“… My cat?” Claire asked, confused, eyes darting between Allison and Laureline. She leaned into her hand further when Claire massaged the side of her face. “Why?”

Allison put the paper back on top of the empty pages. Her lips formed into one of those closed smiles but it was meaningful. “Pets are the best comforters.”

Claire ran her hand down the length of her back, her silk hair gliding between her fingers, against her palm. Laureline arched to her touch.

“I didn’t think of it that way…” Claire trailed off quietly. “He said the words were things you could find in a house.”

Allison simply shrugged and said, ”Thinking outside the box isn’t bad.”

The more Claire sat on Allison’s statement, the more she was right.

She couldn’t remember when exactly she'd gotten over it and fell asleep to the sound of Laureline's annoying snoring right by her ear. And she couldn't remember a time where this stuck up cat wasn’t there to keep her company at the empty dinner table. Laureline still clawed at her—she had scratches up and down her forearms to prove it—but it was only during play time now.

And Laureline had seen her cry more than anyone. She couldn’t physically wipe her tears but her presence was enough. She’d never truly been alone.

Claire smiled as Laureline pushed aside her binder, climbing into the space of her lap. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

The weather was starting to change. Leaves from fall were beginning to crinkle and die. The weather reports said it would start snowing in a few weeks. Having to come to school decked out just to take it off during some classes was beginning to get annoying. Claire blamed Amanda.

After second period gym, Claire wanted to go home. They played dodgeball and that never went well. The last thing she wanted to do after a shower was to put a sweater but Ms. Ryan’s Biology class was still too cold. Winter around the corner hadn’t deterred her need for living in an ice land.

Michelle resting against the locker next to Claire’s was an unexpected sight. She never came by unless it was _important_. Her Pre-Algebra class was two buildings over. Claire sucked in a breath, hoping and praying Michelle wouldn’t notice.

If Michelle had, she didn’t give any indication. “Hi, Claire.”

Claire fought the uneasiness coursing through her. “Hi, Michelle. How’re you today?”

“Oh, you know… Just another day in this dump.” Michelle shrugged as Claire rolled in her combination to the locker below. “I lost my chap-stick earlier which I’m still mourning over.”

“Sorry to hear.”

“It’s fine. It was a limited edition kind but I think my mom can pull some strings and get me another.” She said, looking down at her nails with a disgruntled expression. “I think Cindy took it.”

Claire took her cardigan off the rack and put her math composition book inside. “Why not just ask for it back?”

“… And start World War III?” She flared. “No, thank you! I don’t even know if it was really her. It’s just a guess.”

“It’s never a good idea to jump to conclusions unless you have proof.”

Michelle sneered. “I have all the proof I need. It’s called female intuition. She’s been eyeing it ever since I showed her when she came over. Now that I think about it… I think she was waiting for the right time. You _do_  know she’s poor, right?”

Claire blinked. “I don’t know what her economic status has to do with anything.”

“It has everything to do with it but _whatever_. That’s so not why I came here." Michelle straightened. "I just came to ask what’s going on.”

“With what?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what, Claire.”

“No.” Claire shook her head. “I really don’t.”

Michelle sighed exaggeratedly. “Is there, like, any particular reason why you’re still talking to her?”

“Who?”

“Stop playing dumb. The project was forever ago.” Michelle fixed her sneer into a quick smile for their friends that passed by. “People have been _talking_ , Claire. They’ve _seen_ you with her. Do you actually like that Allison girl?”

Claire slammed her locker shut. Michelle wasn’t spooked. She knew this confrontation would come eventually. She just hadn’t thought of what exactly to say.

They’d spent a lot of time together, way more than what should’ve been considered necessary for a project that wasn’t for a science fair. Allison even slept over some nights. Claire knew she _should’ve_  tried cut the wire holding them together… But she didn’t want to.

There was nothing wrong with being friends with people that weren’t like her. Different wasn’t always bad. If there was one positive thing she learned from John, it was that.

“What’s so wrong about it?” Claire kept her tone leveled. “She’s a great person, Michelle. I don’t understand why you guys don’t see it.”

“We’ve seen enough about her to know that what you’re doing is social suicide. You know, it’s bad enough you’re talking to Lila—and flaunting it so _publicly_. You _know_ her and Amanda don’t get along.”

"They were best friends when they were kids then had drama in the eigth grade—over a _shirt_." Claire rolled her eyes. "So... What? That has nothing to do with me. It’s called being a neutral party."

"Claire, hon, we're here to guide you and show you how things work around here. Talking to these people is against everything we are."

Claire brow furrowed, struck at how she said it so simply, so easily without a care. “Are you hearing yourself?”

Michelle scoffed. “Please, spare me the coming lecture, Claire. This goody-two shoes act you have going on is _so_  beginning to get on my nerves.”

“What’s your problem, Michelle?”

“ _I_ don’t have a problem.” She jabbed Claire’s shoulder with her manicured nail. “It’s _your_  funeral if Amanda finds out—which she will, eventually. You can rest, assured that it won’t be by me.”

“My hero.” Claire mumbled.

Michelle heard this time. Her face grew dark. “You like your spot on Student Council, right?”

Student Council was the only other time she saw these girls. Jennifer had always talked about wanting to be on Student Council. They’d made a pact and intended to see it through even if they weren’t together anymore.

But these girls weren’t like Jennifer or her old friends. Every nerve in her body wanted to run—run the same exact way her parents always ran from their problems. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t cave. She wouldn’t ever be them.

She straightened her back, staring into Michelle’s muddy eyes. “Yes.”

“Then I suggest you take out the trash before she finds out.” Michelle turned on her heel. “Girls like us aren’t meant to be friends with the help, Claire. Always remember that.”

Michelle walked away, her clothes and hair flowing. Claire kept from clenching her jaw. Her warning and blood pounded in her ears and Claire had to keep from clenching her jaw. There were a million things she could yell, a million things to use against her but she wouldn’t.

If this was the price of popularity, Claire didn’t want it.


	8. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna thank Beyonce, Cardi B, and Diana Prince (Wonder Woman) for the air I breathe.
> 
> There's one part in this chapter that's loosely based on something that happened between me and my best friend irl. It's one of the things I've had intended since the start, including... Well, you'll see how this chapter ends.
> 
> Warning: underage drinking.

Allison’s delighted squeak was swallowed by the crowd gathered around her. She practically skipped the whole way towards Claire.

“You made it!”

“Of course I did.” Claire asked, tilting her head to the side. “Or did you forget you invited me?”

“No. I’m…” Allison paused. That ball of happiness from seconds ago faded and she looked uncomfortable, avoiding Claire’s gaze.

Her usual dirty Converse were traded in for sequin flats—even her baggy shirt was gone, replaced by a light blue blouse. Allison even went beyond clothes, styling her hair out of her face to showcase her heart shaped face.

Finally, Allison shrugged. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.” Claire replied lightly, looking around the lobby. There were all kinds of different people—a lot of them, _way_ more than she expected. “I’ve never been to one of these before. It looks… interesting.”

“You already hate it.”

Claire whirled. “I never said that! I just dunno what to expect. That’s _all_. So, c’mon! Show me around."

Allison didn’t follow her. For a few seconds, Claire was on her own.

The museum was located close to downtown Chicago. It was shelved between modern architecture, a hole in the wall. A three story brick building almost. It’d taken a while for George to find it. He'd even told her maybe Allison had it all mixed up. Claire hated being late but she hated the thought of standing Allison up even more.

Allison eventually caught up to her, slipping her hand in hers. “I still think you’re gonna hate it.”

Claire squeezed her clammy hand. “Give me a chance, Allison.”

A sliver of fear crossed her eyes, but Allison nodded. Giving their tickets to the receptionist, she led them through the first door, and around the first floor. It was entirely white, almost blaring. And cold. Claire felt like she was walking through a hospital.

She didn’t think it was possible, but Allison talked. And talked. And _talked_. She'd spent almost a year trying to get more than a few sentences out of Allison. Now Allison couldn’t be stopped. Her childlike excitement was almost contagious. This was her home away from home, and she wanted to share it.

“‘Kay…” Allison indicated with a jerk of her head. “What do you think of this?”

Claire grimaced, her finger flapping her lip. “They’re… rocks.”

A ghost of an amused smile crossed Allison’s lips. “They’re not.”

“Really?”

“It’s a bunch of molded material—” She explained quietly. “—shaped into a sculpture. It represents embryology.”

Claire blinked, trying to see the formation of these large rocks, or whatever they were, the way Allison saw them—the way they were _supposed_ to be seen. But... nothing. They were just whatever they were to her.

“How can you even tell?”

“I read the plaque.”

Claire groaned loudly, rubbing her temples. “Of _course_.”

Allison smiled crookedly, nudging her shoulder. “I told you you’d hate it.”

“I don’t!” Claire replied hotly. “I’m just... not equipped with the brain for this kind of stuff.”

“Don’t look down on yourself.” Allison grabbed Claire's hand again. “Neither was I.”

“That’s actually shocking.” They walked together to another unoccupied station. She'd noticed most of the crowd weren't bothering with the first floor. They were heading upstairs. “You’re so talented. I thought it was natural.”

Allison shrugged. “Honing your skills is practice, work, and years of tears.”

Claire scoffed. “Preaching the choir on that one. Did your parents ever send you to an art school? My mom stuck me in ballet the second I started dancing.”

Although Allison said it so simply, Claire knew there was something more. "Self taught.”

“Wow...” Claire blinked. “But... _How_?”

”I read a lot of books..." She paused. "And watched people as they drew. Studied the way their hands move, their color choices, their platforms, what they base their work on...”

“So, is that what you plan to do after high school?”

”I dunno yet... I'd think I'd like to find out if I have any other interests.”

Claire nodded. “That's understandable. We still have time... Although, I guess when you really think about it, there isn't a lot left. God, I hate thinking about school when it’s so close to summer.”

Allison gave a small smile, leading her elsewhere. Claire hadn't even looked at where they'd stopped previously.

”What did you wanna be when you grew up?”

Claire thought. “I honestly thought I’d be a professional dancer. At some point, my mom planned to stick me in some a magnet school so I'd be noticed. It's what she wanted ever since I was little.”

Allison already knew. ”But not what you wanted.”

”Right. Did you parents have any expectations of you?"

Allison shook her head, almost sadly. She'd never seen her like that, suddenly so closed up and on the verge of defeat. Claire decided to drop it.

"So, where’s your piece?” She asked genuinely. “I wanna see it.”

“Upstairs.”

Claire tugged on her sleeve. "Well, let’s go!”

When she didn't hear her footsteps behind her, Claire turned around. Allison stood still, still as a statue, biting her bottom lip. She was struggling. With what, Claire didn't know.

“What is it, Allison?”

”I..." She started quietly. "I don’t want you to leave yet.”

Her heart stirred again. Claire walked up to her, pushing her forearm to get her attention. “I won’t go anywhere until you do. You’re my friend. I won’t abandon you.”

“You really... Don’t miss them at all?”

Claire shook her head. “No, they weren’t good people. And, frankly, I think I have a soft spot for weirdos.”

That got Allison to look up—even smile, just a small one that would’ve gone unnoticed to the masses.

“I _do_ miss my old friends, especially Jennifer." Claire admitted. "She calls—a lot, actually—but it’s not the same as seeing her in person.”

“Long distance relationships are hard.” Allison commented like she knew from first hand experience.

“Yeah, but I'll see her soon. Her cheerleading squad is heading to nationals in two weeks. She wants me to go. My father’s already paid for my flight.”

“People... cheering cheerleaders?" The way Allison asked made Claire almost laugh. "That sounds... fun?”

“Do you have any art competitions or stuff like that?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never competed.”

“Why not?”

“Well… I’ve never really had friends before… And I don’t think of myself as the competitive type.”

Claire’s eyes softened. They’d been friends for almost half a year now. She’d barely changed besides her spontaneous outfit changes. Only recently Allison looked like she struggling to breathe. Claire thought it might've been allergies, but there was something about the way she walked on eggshells that made her think otherwise. She wanted to know but was afraid to ask.

Claire slipped out of Allison’s tense grip, and placed her arm around the girls’ shoulders. “It’s also not for everyone. Too many sore losers.”

“Are you one of them?”

“Unfortunately.” Claire muttered.

“Is that why you quit?”

Allison wasn’t going to stop until she knew all of it. “That’s part of it. You can guess the other part.”

Allison stared long, concentrated. They were opposites but it seemed normal for someone like Claire and someone like Allison to just _be_. And Claire didn’t feel intimidated by her. Under all her weirdness, she was real. She knew Allison wouldn’t run off and tell anyone anything. Sabotage wasn’t in her being.

Claire retracted her arm, walking off by herself. One piece of art in the room caught her eye, making her stop there. It was a print. Actually, she'd seen this in Photography I last year. It was _Alley, Chicago_  by Harry Callahan.

She'd always thought the photo was ominous. It was black and white, taken back in 1948, with a smeared quality to it. It'd been raining that day and the film looked like it hadn't developed thoroughly. But now Claire was beginning to see it differently—to maybe see it the way it was meant to be seen.

Earlier, Allison talked about how some paintings reminded her of the past. Or things. Or even people. _There's something about the process that evokes emotions_ , she said, _when you find out what they were going through when they drew it_. _Sometimes, you can see it_. _Other times, you_ feel _it._  She'd been watching her. Her eyes were in a far away place. She brushed it off as Allison being typical, lost in her world of pens and a blank canvas, but now... Now it was more than that.

"What about photography?" Allison asked suddenly by her side.

Claire was brought out of the clouds. "What?"

"A career in photography."

"Hm. I dunno." She folded her arms across her chest. "Lila's been saying that I'm good at it but I just don't see it. I'm a lot better at hair and make-up."

"There's nothing wrong with being good at a lot of things." Allison said softly. "But I've seen your photo album. You know how to catch people in the moment. Lila's really pretty when she smiles."

"I _guess_  if you consider going to art school, I'll find out what I can do about photography." Claire said cheekily.

Allison's lip twitched, then she bit it. There was more, more that she wasn't telling her. But Claire knew better than to probe. She'd wait. Allison liked her privacy.

Claire walked off to another station. It was a sculpture... of a person? It looked like a monkey. A sitting monkey, almost like a animal copy of _The Thinker_ sculpture but messier. She couldn't find the plaque for it.

“I’m bisexual.”

Claire turned. “What?”

Her feet shuffled. She could see her toes curling through the head of the flats. Claire thought she’d hallucinated the sound of her monotone voice. But it'd been right by her ear. She couldn't have.

Slowly, Allison said, “It means I like boys… and girls.”

Claire blinked. “Oh.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No...” She stopped. “Should it?”

Allison shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. But her cheeks were beginning to turn pink and there was the slightest quiver of her lip.

“You tell me.” Claire said when Allison went completely silent, refusing to meet her gaze. "Should it bother me?"

”It’s not... _bizarre_ to you?”

”Well...” Claire trailed off, grimacing. “Yeah? But... That’s mostly ‘cause I don’t understand it.”

”What don’t you understand?”

”I, um..." Claire pulled her lips together. "How'd you know you were into girls?”

”... I think I've always known." Allison responded. "I wouldn't mind kissing a girl. The thought of doing things I'd like to do with a guy doesn't bother me.”

”Oh. But you haven't actually been with a girl yet?”

"No, but I haven't been with a guy, either." Allison looked away. "You're the only girl I've talked to so far."

Then something clicked. It made sense! She covered her mouth, hiding her gasp. “Oh, my _God_ , Allison! Are you trying to tell me you... you _like_ me? Was this some kind of date?”

Allison’s snort was _loud_ , garnering attention from the few that were around. “No, I don't.”

Cold, hard embarrassment seeped in although Allison found her outburst humorous. ”I’m _so_ sorry, I shouldn't have said that! I sounded like such a conceited bitch. Oh, my God...”

“You didn't. It's me. I'm not equipped with the brain for this... This _friendship_ stuff. But...” She tilted her head slightly. Her eyes were so sad. ”Would it have bothered you if I did?”

Claire shook her head, waving her hands in front of her. “Not at all! It's just... I’m just not into girls. And you know I’ve been seeing Brad for the last couple of weeks.”

“So...” She exaggerated, breathing in. Her eyes were still glossy but the tears from seconds ago weren't threatening to spill. “Things won’t... change between us? You won't look at me any differently?”

“Why would they?”

“It’s just… Not something… normal?” Allison inhaled. Her breaths were ragged and she couldn't stop blinking. “I’m really scared, Claire.”

Claire touched her arm. “Allison, I'm not gonna tell anyone. Nothing's changed. You're still you. I don’t see you any differently.”

Allison searched her face. ”Yeah?”

Claire nodded, pulling her into a hug. Allison let out a quiet sob, returning her hug with one arm around her back and the other in her hair. Allison smelled of French vanilla, so homey.

* * *

Claire knew she really shouldn’t be at this place. But it was the first _major_ party of junior year and the least she could do was make an appearance—otherwise, people would wonder. Although things between her and Amanda went to shit after she'd picked Allison, things between her and Michelle were lukewarm. It's just how she wanted them to be.

“So, what’re we supposed to do at this… thing?”

“Socialize.” Allison side eyed her. She’d gone to Allison’s expo, didn't complain the entire time, so the least Claire could do for her was invite her to this part. They weren't going to stay long, anyway.

“Okay, _okay_.” She said with a smile. “I’ll do the socializing. You do what you do best. Just be yourself.”

Allison’s grip on her arm tensed. “That doesn’t work for everyone."

"They just don't understand that you're great, even without the make-up."

"Thanks." Allison looked down, her hair covering her face. She'd come to the party in her normal clothing. It was her comfort zone and Claire wouldn't tread on it.

"You're welcome! But seriously, it'll happen. I mean, you're still friends with me, right?"

"I mean... I guess it has worked for one other person..."

Claire gasped. “Allison! That's so great! I'm so happy for you! When did it happen?”

“He’s not… really a friend.”

“Wait. What? How come?”

“We see each other around, we have some of the same classes. He acknowledges me.”

“... So?" Claire asked when she didn't continue. "Then... What? What’s his name?”

“I have no idea.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re as bad of a liar as I am.”

“I think you’ll know who it is when you see him.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

The bass pounded beyond the door. Amanda may be gone but her and Michelle were still friends, and parties at Amanda’s house were known to be _insane_. That's why Claire didn't _want_ to come, but had to.

“Nothing important. You'll just know."

"So, then, you do _know_ him?"

"I know _of_ him."

She was getting so tired of her cryptic responses. "Well, is he here?”

Allison shrugged innocently. “Dunno.”

Claire groaned loudly.

Amanda’s large family room—now a total disaster zone—greeted them when Claire opened the door. Pieces of confetti decorated the hardwood floor, along with thrown shoes, and trash. Almost everyone had a plastic cup in hand. Nobody was wasted just yet—not entirely to the point where they were sleeping on the floor.

“Do you want a drink?” Claire yelled over the speaker right by the stairs.

“Can I?” Allison yelled back, her ears covered by her hands.

“Sure!” She grabbed Allison’s wrist, leading her to the kitchen. “I’ll call a cab to take us home later. Or my father—he won’t mind.”

Claire navigated Amanda’s kitchen with ease. She always kept a stash of wine towards the bottom of the sink. The rest were downstairs but Claire wasn't ever going there at a time like this. Placing the unopened bottle of Moscato on the counter, she grabbed two cups.

Allison took the island seat. “Is that wine?”

Claire pulled out the cork, the foam spilling into the sink. She poured less than half a cup for Allison, sliding it to her. It stopped a few inches from her hand.

“This one’s a favorite. I’m _very_ picky about my choice in alcohol.”

Allison tentatively reached for the cup. “You’re picky about everything.”

”Someone _has_ to be." She said, pouring herself half a cup. "Beer is disgusting and cheap. Try it.”

Allison brought it to her nose, sniffing. Her face contorted like a puppy chewing on an electric chord for the first time. Claire brought her own cup to her lips and drank, relishing in the bubbly sweetness.

“It tastes better than it smells. Promise.”

Allison took a hesitant sip, bracing herself for impact with her eyes shut tight. After a while, she opened them. “I like it.”

“I knew you would.” Claire replied confidently. “I've never met anyone with a sweet tooth like yours. Do you want more?”

Allison nodded, squeaking. Claire slid her another cup, this time with half. She poured more into her own cup and drank. She really wanted to dance but wasn’t sure if Allison wanted to put herself out there more. She was completely out of her comfort zone. There wasn't much else Claire could do to make her comfortable—and getting Allison sloppy drunk was not something she'd go through with.

“Claire! Hey! How’s everything going?”

Her eyes slid over the cup, towards one of the kitchen doors. Claire almost choked.

“ _Andy_?”

Andrew bulked up since the last time she’d seen him, filling out his polo in all the right places. Even his jeans fit nicely. The baby fat stuck to his cheeks were gone. He was incredibly handsome, not that he’d never been before.

“Oh, my God!” Claire smiled widely. “What’re you _doing_ here?”

“Steff’s dating Michelle. You remember him from when we were kids, right?”

”I recall the name but not the face.”

”Ah, doesn’t really matter. He invited me come with him. He didn’t wanna come alone in case things got ugly.”

Claire’s brow rose. “Is he breaking up with her? How long have they been going out?”

“Uh, not sure.” He scratched the back of his head. “Maybe a few months ago? July or August? It’s not my business. I just wanted an excuse to get out.”

She shook her head, waving her free hand. “Don’t stress yourself over it. You want some?”

Andrew eyed the Moscato bottle with a weary gaze. “No, that stuff sucks. But I’ll take a Budweiser, if there’s any.”

Claire rolled her eyes, grabbing his choice from the pile Amanda stocked in her fridge. She handed it off to him and took a seat right next to Allison.

“Hi.” He said politely.

Allison turned to him slowly, staring blankly. If Claire didn't know her any better, Allison was examining him.

“You’re supposed to say something back, you know...” Claire commented innocently.

Allison glanced at her. Then looked back at him.

Andrew's eyes darted between them. Chuckling nervously, he said, “It’s okay. Forget I asked."

"She's like that."

"Yeah?"

Claire nodded.

"I guess I'll have to get used to it 'cause, uh, I'm coming back to Shermer soon.”

“Oh, wow! How come?”

“Long story I don’t wanna get into. Short, _short_ version: this time my mom thought it’d be better if I came back here. They’re also, uh, going through some issues… I’m with my cousin right now until my mom finds a place here.”

She took a sip, wanting the wine to kick in already. She didn't want to think about home, or talk about home, at a time like this.

“I understand that all too well.”

He smiled, the same sadness from when they were kids still lingered. “Yeah, I know you do. I’ll start school after winter break.”

“That’s _horrible!_ Starting in the middle of the year is so much worse than doing it in the fall.”

Andrew shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. If it were up to me? ... Ah. It doesn’t matter. You mind showing me around when I get there?”

“I’ll try..." She wanted to ask what he was going to say but decided not to. "That’s really part of Student Council’s job and I’m not on it anymore, but I’ll see what I can do.”

”How come?”

”A lot of girl drama.” Claire took another sip. “Doesn’t matter anymore. They're over it, I'm over it.”

Allison suddenly brightened. “I love this song.”

Andrew turned to her. “You like The Temptations?”

Allison squeaked, then clamped her mouth. Andrew wasn’t freaked out by it this time. He actually almost laughed, hiding it behind a big grin.

“What about The Supremes?”

Allison nodded, almost shyly. “Do you like Queen?”

“I love Queen!" He said excitedly. " _Stone Cold Crazy_ is my favorite song.”

Allison smiled, one Claire hadn't ever seen before. She didn't think it was possible to be shocked twice in a year but it was happening—and it was happening so fast, she barely kept up.

“I love  _Under Pressure_.”

“Ah. I’m not much of a Bowie fan but it’s a great song.”

“ _Dragon Attack_ is amazing, too.”

“The Game is one of my favorite albums.”

Claire poured another half of the Moscato, smiling to herself. She could take the hint.

“Hey. I’m gonna go scouring around the house. My boyfriend should be here.”

“Oh. Okay.” Andrew responded. Allison shot her a pleading look. _Don’t go_. “We’ll just… be here, I guess? If not, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure thing!” Claire gave them one last wave, leaving them alone to their _intense_ conversation. “I’ll wait for you on the porch at midnight, Allison!”

Claire didn’t hear if Allison replied. She was already making her way through the hallway, to the living room.

There _so_ many people. So many faces she didn’t recognize. A lot of them were older, college kids probably coming to see their senior friends. Or Amanda's college friends that she brought down. Michelle was a senior now, the new it girl of the school. Even her _other_ boyfriend was coming.

An arm circled her shoulders, pulling her close. The scent of spices was pungent.

“Hey, girl!”

“I wasn't expecting to see you here.” Claire wrapped hers around Lila’s waist. "How’d you even get in? I can't believe Amanda actually _let_ you in. What about school? Don't you have, like, midterms?”

“One question at a time. Whoa. I forget how super, bubbly talkative you get when you've had a little _too_ much."

"Sorry." Claire said sheepishly.

"One at a time, then. The white girls are outside with their boy toys. Last time I checked, the front door's open for everyone. The back isn't. And school's going great, thanks for asking. One night off won't kill me.” Cup in hand, probably filled with Guinness beer, Lila waved at someone. “Almost everyone from Shermer High's here, even the burnouts. Those Malibu Barbies need to get over themselves.”

“You're not wrong.” Claire drank the last of the liquid, the cup now empty in her palm. She wanted a refill but didn’t want to turn around. “Have you seen Brad, by any chance?”

“Your pretty boy Brad? I remember seeing him with Jason earlier... But I think they might’ve left. They came just to say that they were here.”

“ _Already_? Damn.”

Lila’s thin brow quirked. “I’m surprised you two didn’t show up together.”

“Me, too.”

“Uh-oh!” Her eyes widened, catching onto the details she’d only told Allison and Jennifer. “Rough patch?”

“I think we’re over the honeymoon phase. He’s been acting weird lately.”

“In what way?”

Claire groaned. “I don’t really wanna talk about. I’m _done_ talking about it. I just wanna dance.”

Lila eyed her warily but conceded. “All right, hon. Let’s go.”

* * *

Claire didn’t expect so many kids her age would _still_ be listening to the older Motown records.

But the majority of them danced away, including her. She'd grown up listening to this stuff with her father. How could she _not_? The dance space was limited though, and more than once Claire found herself brushing up against someone. And the music was tuned high. She felt like the soulful voices were directly inside her pounding head.

Somehow, she found herself detached from Lila. And in an area she couldn't recognize through her bleary vision. More faces came and went. She felt herself walking but didn't know where she was going. Her feet ached from dancing on her heels. Her arms felt like spaghetti. And her body was on fire, enough to make her want to discard her clothes.

And Claire really needed to get to the bathroom. It was coming up. Vomit. The one door in this hallway ended up being locked.

Turning the corner, Claire was roughly shoved. It must've been some fight. There was some screaming although she'd thought it was the music.

The world spun, and nausea climbed in the back of her throat. She managed to catch herself. Kind of. Her arm sprung out and touched _something_. It wasn't sturdy enough to be a wall. And there was heat radiating from whatever it was. And it gripped her arm back.

“Falling for me already? We just met again.”

Buzz aside, she still would've stared. Definitely not as blatantly. She would’ve found ways to steal glances. He was difficult not to look at—he _begged_ to be looked at. He _wanted_ that attention.

Gorgeous brown hair framed most of his face, with the slightest of waves towards his neck. And he had pretty eyes for a boy. A chain dangled against his dirty jeans, and she could make out something glittery and silver in one of his ears. He reeked of danger. She’d always liked a little bit of danger.

No, no, no! She couldn’t be thinking stuff like that. Not right _now_.

His smirked curled wider, almost into a grin. “You like something you see, sweets? It hasn’t been _that_ long.”

“Ugh. No…” Claire’s ripped away from his hold she found strangely—and unfortunately—still warm. It was too fast and the world spun again. “Someone pushed me.”

There was a loud crash that made him look away but he came right back. “… Which made you land right into me and proceed to check me out.”

“Yes… I mean, no!”

His grin never faltered. “So, which is it, Queenie?”

“I mean… Yes! I was pushed and you caught me." She swallowed. Her throat felt so dry and _not_ because of him. "But that didn’t mean I was checking you out!”

“Ah, careful what you say.” He talked using his hand that strangely reminded her of someone she couldn’t think of right now. “I could get the wrong idea.”

“ _Don’t_.” She meant to say it threateningly but her head was pounding and her voice got lost in the music. She managed to step away from him, without falling. She found a space in the wall, leaning against it.

He stared at her the entire time, intently. “You don’t look too good, sweets.”

She shot him a glare. “Stop calling me those names.”

He licked his smirk away, moving towards her. “I think it’s about time you get outta here, anyway. There's some crazy shit going on right now.”

Gripping her forearm and placing it over his shoulder, he started guiding her in another unknown direction. In the back of her mind, she knew this could've turned out to be a bad idea. She didn't know him.

Claire tried to brush him off. “I don’t need—“

“Shut up and let me.”

And for some reason, she did. They moved, wobbling against these people like a pair of penguins. God, she shouldn't have drank. And the urge to vomit was still there.

“God." He let out in awe. "How the _fuck_ do I end up in these positions with you?”

“What?”

“You’re a damsel in distress, Claire. Always been.” He shook his head softly. “How’d you survive all these years without me?”

She smelled it, something foul. It tickled her nose, and made her burp. He stopped instantly. For a split second, he looked... worried? Claire swallowed thickly, breathing in heaves.

She met his familiar eyes. “I’m okay...”

“How much did you drink?"

"Uh... Like... Not that much. I think."

"You _lightweight_."

"Shut. Up."

He smirked, starting them up again. "Taking care of you isn't so fucking bad, so I guess it's not the worst thing in the world.”

“Seriously..." She wished her head wasn't such a wreck. "Where’re you getting this stuff from? I don’t know you.”

“Oh. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Allison and Andrew weren't there when they entered the kitchen. She wondered if it was really a good idea that she'd left Allison on her own. Andrew wasn't a bad guy, though. They seemed to be into each other, Claire reasoned. Allison be safe with him. She wasn't sure about her own situation.

He set her down on the seat. He managed to catch her head before it fell on the table.

"What the _fuck_ , Claire!"

"Everything's just so... _heavy_."

He paused, and sighed. "This isn't the brightest of ideas, but..."

He grabbed her arms one by one, folding them under her head. The surface of her arms were comfortable but Claire found herself disappointed when he left her side. The fridge opened, cans clinking.

"Did you eat before you got here?"

"No."

He took a moment, hearing a can hiss and a cabinet open. "I _probably_ already know the answer, but humor me. _When_ was the last time you ate?"

"Uh..."

"Can't say I'm shocked to hear that hasn't changed either."

The cloak of sleep began to envelope her. The last thing she heard was the water dispenser before she blacked out. She dreamed of nothing but black.

"Claire?" She heard somewhere in the distance. A hand gripped her shoulder lightly. ”... _Claire_? Nod if you can hear me."

Claire did at a sloth's pace.

" _Oh_. Good. Do you need to throw up?"

Claire lifted her head. The world was fuzzy. And bright, so bright it could blind her if she weren't squinting. Her head still felt so heavy. Her palm pressed against her cheek to hold it up as everything came slowly into focus.

“... Cindy?”

“Yeah, it's me." Cindy gave a small smile that Claire knew was genuine. "You know your new friend, Allison? She's waiting for you on the porch."

"Oh... Oh, _shit_. Okay. I can't _believe_ I drank."

"It happens to the best of us."

The music changed while she'd been out. It was that obnoxious electronic music Amanda loved. And there were a lot less people, maybe half of what'd been here earlier was gone now. When did everyone leave?

Claire noticed the empty glass in front of her. Droplets of water were still inside. When did that get there? She was so delirious. She must've drank it. She didn't _remember_ drinking it. She couldn't remember much of anything... except...

”Was there anyone else here?”

”I think I might've scared him off.”

" _You_?"

Cindy chuckled, placing the bottle of water in front of her. "Yeah, he's one of those burnouts that shit's on all the rich kids."

"I dunno... He doesn't seem like it... I think he helped me."

"Well, that's news to me. He's not exactly known for being helpful." Cindy held out her hand. "C'mon. I'll help you get outside before Amanda notices you're here, too. Her and Lila had a _huge_ fight not too long ago. You missed it. Lila kicked her ass—and then some.”

Claire took the water but not her hand.

Cindy noticed her hesitance. "Claire, it's okay. I'm here to help. I don't want to fight."

"I don't know if I can trust you." She struggled to open the cap. Cindy took it from her, delicately, and did it.

"I'm sorry. I really am. For what happened..." She handed it back to Claire. "I still want us to be friends."

"Save it... For when I'm not like this."

Cindy nodded. "Okay."

Cindy wrapped her arm around Claire's waist. She didn't want to, but she had no choice. She leaned into her, and let her be her guide towards the front door.

“Do you... Do you know where he is?"

"Claire, don't bother with him. He's nobody important."

For some reason, Claire didn't think so.


	9. Seventeen I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, would like to thank the people who take a few minutes of their time to leave a review. It really means a lot to writers and it really keeps us going! I shouldn't have to say this but, please, if you like a story, drop a good review—doesn't matter what you say as long as you write something. Even a simple, 'I love it' goes a long way.
> 
> This chapter is super long. For reasons. I like to be as accurate as possible when I research and it tends to be my downfall. There's also going to be a second part for this particular age.

 

* * *

"Are you absolutely _sure_ , honey?" George asked, seated on his favorite side of the long couch. "It's not too late to change your mind."

It was weird having him here; the two of them lounging by the fire place on a Friday afternoon. He was reading a book; Laureline perched comfortably on the armrest next to him.

Even in Shermer George was still married to his job. Some habits would never die no matter where he went—whether George was with or without Debra. But his absences didn't bother Claire like it used to. He worked hard to provide. Being mad about that forever was childish.

"It's just another birthday, daddy."

"But you're seventeen now." He closed the French novel his parents sent him for Christmas. "I thought… I don't know—I thought, _maybe_ , you would've wanted a party. You'd invite your friends and they'd friends invited their friends and the house ends up in shambles by the time I come home. I know most girls your age want that."

"I think I've been to enough of those to know it's not what I want."

"Oh."

Claire shrugged. "I'm okay with this—just you, me, and a few friends staying over."

"I just wanted to make sure you're all right." George said. "I know how difficult the last few years have been for you and I know I haven't been around as often as I thought I'd be. You know, honey, it's normal that you'd experience signs of—"

"Oh, God, dad, no! We have those discussions in school at least once a month. Give me some credit!" Claire gave a closed smile. "I think I've adjusted the best I can with what you gave me. It really hasn't been the worst."

George's gaze was too long. "Has your mother called?"

Claire's smile dropped, and she looked down at her grey shorts. "She did."

"Did she send you anything?"

"A bracelet with my birthstone."

"You didn't invite her."

She could feel the holes growing in her hair. "She asked but I told her I had plans all this weekend."

"Claire?" Though she didn't look up, George continued, "Honey… You have to forgive her someday. The both of you can't go on like this—all this passive aggressive back and forth stuff. Don't be your mother. Don't be us. Be _better_."

She sat straight and placed one leg on top of the other. "Maybe some other time."

George frowned. He was disappointed and that hurt. She hated feeling like a failure. It's why she'd chosen him, why she actively avoided her mother. Nothing would ever please her mother. And, God, if Debra ever found out she never bothered showing up for ballet tryouts _and_ joined something as mundane as the Yearbook Committee… Claire didn't want to think about that road right now.

"Did Leonardo call?"

"He did! I called him but it went straight to voicemail. He says he's in France. Did you know that?"

George softened. "I did. It's for his research masters, although… I'm not entirely sure _what_ it is he's doing."

"I'd love to visit there someday. Maybe see my grandparents. I haven't seen them since, what, ten? Eleven? They came for Christmas that one year..."

"Well—"

The doorbell rang. Claire sprinted to her feet before her father could register. "I'll get it."

Laureline hopped off the arm seat on his side, following Claire all the way to the door.

"Hey! You're—" The rest of her sentence was lost to the breeze.

Allison was wearing a dress—and not just any type of dress. It was _pink_ and _sleeveless_ with a tulle skirt. Delicate lacework decorated the bodice. A thin, brown belt brought out Allison's slim waist. Even without her hair and makeup done she still looked every bit of a porcelain doll her mother used to collect.

Laureline squeezed between Claire's ankles to get to Allison. But she didn't pet her.

Claire pointed, finally able to form the question. "Is that my dress?"

Allison swayed from side to side, the material of the skirt flowing. "Maybe…"

Claire looked down, where Laureline was rubbing against her and meowing. Allison actually wore _heels_. They were the same brown as her belt and open toed.

"And those are my shoes!"

"Yeah..." Allison paused, gnawing on her lip. "Are you mad?"

"No!" She scooped up Laureline who went limp in her arms. "But you could've asked. I've been looking for them everywhere!"

"Sorry." Allison bent down, unfastening the zipper on the back. "I'll give them back."

"No, don't take them off!" Claire dropped Laureline behind her. The cat grumbled, walking off with her tail high towards the living room. "Keep them. It's fine."

Allison stopped, looking up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive." Claire tilted her head to the side as Allison stood straight. "Well… I guess that explains where my clothes went."

"They're soft." Allison complimented. "And pretty."

"And expensive! That dress is by Christian Lacroix. My father had it imported from France."

"I'll ask next time." Allison's head bowed slightly. "I didn't think it would bother you..."

Claire smiled, moving to the side. "It's okay, Allison! I was just messing with you. Really, you can keep my clothes if you take them. You're lucky we're almost the same size in everything."

Allison didn't make a move though it was a chilly evening. It was February—February 10th to be exact—and winter was hanging on by a thread. The weather reports said spring would be starting late March. Claire couldn't wait for the pansy flowers in their garden to bloom.

"So, uh, are we going somewhere?"

"No…" She trailed off, confused. "Why? Do you wanna go somewhere? It's your birthday."

"Not really." She indicated with a jerk of her thumb backwards. "I just put the chicken in the oven not too long ago, and Lila's bringing some of her Jamaican desserts I've been dying to try."

"Oh."

"My father's here, too. He took the day off."

"That's good."

"So… If you're not taking me anywhere, why're you dressed like that?"

Allison looked down, grabbing the tulle on both sides. "Am I… Not dressed okay?"

"Allison, you look beautiful!"

Allison squeaked, blushing. "Thank you. But I… I don't understand what the problem is…"

Claire grabbed Allison by the wrists, pulling her inside. "The problem is you should've told me! 'Cause now I have to upstairs and change!"

* * *

Allison was on her third gizzada by the time eleven rolled around. Eating was the only way she stayed somewhat still.

Lila took one look at Allison's nails before dinner and knew she needed to do something about them when they were finished. Claire let her use all the equipment she had and set them up on her small, folding table.

"This is so good." Allison complimented through a mouthful as Lila filed her nails. "You made all of this?"

"I did!" Lila smiled widely, not to minding Allison's lack of manners. "I spent all day on them. They're all my great-grandma's recipes."

"You didn't have to…"

"Stop. I didn't mind at all." Lila curved the file around Allison's pinky. She didn't have much to work with. "It gave me something to do. I needed a break from statistics…"

"It sounds exhausting. I might take Calculus next year."

"I'll be praying for you." Lila wiped Allison's fingers with a towel. "You know, I'm starting to regret not going to beauty school. It would've been so much easier and I would've been done by now. I could've transferred all my credits from the courses I took in high school."

"Or you could've gone to cooking school." Allison said. "These are really amazing."

"I do love the coconut." Claire nibbled on the piece she pulled from Allison's half eaten tart. "The black cake was delicious, too. And you saw how much my father loved the sweet potato pudding."

"You only had a baby piece of black cake, Claire." Lila glanced sideways. "I worked on that one the most. I know you don't eat a lot of sugar and prefer wine to rum—"

"Hey, my kudos are still valid! I'll eat more of it by the end of the week."

" _Sure_." Lila said with a roll of her eyes.

"That's also _if_ Allison doesn't eat all of it."

Allison's eyes darted to the silver tray by Claire's side. "… Is it okay if—"

"Girl, eat the _whole_ thing if you want—long as it gets eaten." She meant the jab at Claire. "I hate to see food go to waste."

Allison grinned and Claire gave her the remaining piece of tart before grabbing a new one. Laureline's ears perked but she didn't get up, too comfortable on her bed that was draped in John's blanket.

Allison moaned in pain. She tried to rip her hand away but Lila held onto her knuckles.

"I'm trying to be as gentle as possible." She said in a calming tone. Allison curled her toes as Lila continued pushing back the cuticles on her thumb. "Your nails are really small _and_ you've never had them done before. I told you it's gonna sting."

Allison swallowed the piece. "Is it like the sting of your first time?"

"Well, yeah, but I've been doing my nails since I was ten. It doesn't hurt as much now—actually, at all."

"No... I mean your first _time_."

Lila's brows furrowed, confused, but Claire asked before she could, "The first time of…?"

"Sex."

"Uh..." Lila stammered, mouth opening and closing. "No. It's... Not exactly the same as that. I think."

Allison hissed. "It's _bleeding_! Ow!"

Lila quickly dabbed alcohol on it with a tiny piece of cotton. "Sorry! I'm really trying not to hurt you! Think of something else. Um. Focus on your breathing. Feel the muscles of your stomach. Feel the way your lungs contract—how the air feels going in and the way it comes out."

Allison inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. She only flinched when Lila pushed the cuticles on her ring finger, cutting it away with a nail clipper.

"Have you ever done it?"

"Nope." She replied with a pronounced smack of her lips. "I could've, but I didn't. I wasn't ready. I'm saving myself."

Allison stayed quiet. "For someone you love?"

Her smile was weary, careful. "Is that weird of me to want, even with the way the world is going?"

Allison shook her head, speaking softly. "No… I think if you love someone, it's okay."

"But what about if you don't?" Claire blurted. "Is that wrong? To sleep with someone without being in love?"

She could hear her own heartbeat over the murmur of the Phil Collins cassette in her radio. Maybe if it were another situation, she'd find their reactions priceless. But she was so mortified she'd even let something like _that_ slip out. It was enough that everyone thought she was a prude.

"Claire!" Lila whispered loudly, eyes wide. "I never… I mean… _When_?"

Claire sighed, switching to lay on her stomach with her arms dangling over the edge. The tips of her fingers barely touched the carpet.

"Just a few months ago."

Lila seemed to understand something she hadn't said. She gave a curt nod, her attention back to her task. Placing Allison's left hand to the side, she picked her right hand out of the bowl of acetone. She placed a small towel over, massaging.

Finally, Laureline left her bed, prancing over to Allison's unoccupied hand.

"Are you ashamed about it?"

"No, I just…" Claire bit her lip. In a perfect world, she would've already had this conversation with her mother. "I guess I wish I waited longer."

"Because you don't love him." Allison stated.

"I care about him, if that counts? I don't regret what I did, but I just… I don't feel _anything_ for him. That doesn't mean it wasn't good—I just don't think I like sex without _meaning_ , you know?" She was rambling and probably made no sense but she needed to get it out. "Is that… wrong? Does this make me some kind of slut?"

Lila groaned. "No, honey. It's a term perpetuated by guys—and some girls!—to make us feel like shit for enjoying sex the same way guys do. There's nothing wrong if you like it. There's also nothing wrong with _not_ liking it."

"That makes me feel better."

Laureline rolled onto her back, belly up. Claire wished she could be like her. Cats didn't have any problems. All they wanted was to find someone who'd give them attention. And feed them. Things were so simple, without webs of feelings.

Allison complied, her palm rubbing her stomach. "You thought sex would make you love him?"

"Maybe?"

"It's a yes or no answer."

Claire pouted, Laureline's tail kept slipping out of her grip. "I tried to convince myself it would."

Lila hummed in thought. "If you don't love him why stay?"

"My father once told me relationships are work, a lot of them don't just happen naturally... So I keep thinking that maybe..." Claire paused. "Maybe there'll be a moment where I realize I love him. Or just… anything other than this wall blocking me and keeping him at a distance."

"But, hon..." Lila replied sadly. "You've been with him for almost a year. You should _know_ by now. It's not about work anymore."

"Is there something wrong with him?" Allison managed to ask.

"There's nothing wrong with him." Allison stared. " _Really_. There isn't! He's a great guy. He comes from a nice family. He takes me wherever I wanna go, buys me nice gifts, and gives me all the time in the world… Honestly, I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with _me_."

"Don't say that." Allison said, almost heatedly. "There's nothing wrong with you. You shouldn't... You _don't_ owe him anything for being nice to you—including feelings you don't have. And sex."

Claire smiled. "Thanks, guys. This is really making me feel a lot better."

"It's okay to not love him back." Allison continued. "You shouldn't pressure yourself for something you don't feel. You're hurting both of you by doing that."

"He sounds..." Lila took a deep breath, taking Allison's hand off Laureline and setting her up to apply the clear coat. "Claire? If I say this, will you get mad?"

She sighed against the comforter. She knew the relief would be short lived. "Depends on _how_ you say it."

"That's completely fair, but you know how I am! You're cheating yourself."

Claire didn't understand. " _How_?"

"It's in the _way_ you described him." Lila said easily. "The perfect boyfriend—almost _too_ perfect. Any girl would kill to have that. But not you."

"I don't know what I want." She murmured.

"Yes, you do." Lila focused on applying the second coat on Allison's thumb. "You don't want a life of convenience, you already have it. You want more. You want something that keeps you on your toes, a never-ending adventure. You want a guy that drives you completely crazy but you'd still do anything for him when it comes down to it."

Claire grimaced. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"It's not—not in _theory_." Lila paused, starting the first coat of the purple polish Allison had picked out. "But you need to be prepared. A wild thing can't be tamed. What you have with that person might crash and burn. Trading convenience for something unknown might not always be a good move."

"So, what should I do?"

"You know what you should do."

Claire sighed. "I should break up with Brad and live a life full of misery with my father's money."

"The opposite, actually." Lila replied bluntly. "You should break up with him—setting him free _is_ the right thing to do—but you should give yourself space to focus on what you have on your own. You date too much. You don't _need_ a guy to make you happy."

Claire sighed, again. "I know."

"And the Yearbook Committee is going good for you, yeah?"

"It is. I like it a lot."

"That's good, then! Have you applied to any universities?"

"Not yet. It's too early."

"Take it from me. It's never too early. You're already a junior. Now's the perfect time, especially for scholarships."

"My father would really love it if I go to the University of Chicago. It's close to home and it's a good law school." A bitter smile crossed her face and she laughed. "My mother would absolutely hate it if I went to a community college. And it's what I'm thinking about. I already told Allison, but she always wanted me to go to dance school."

"It's your choice. Community college is the cheaper option but it's a lot more crowded than going to a four year university." She rolled her shoulder, using the stick to clean the polish that got on Allison's skin. "Your mom has refined tastes, that's all."

"I still say you should've gone to Cal Tech. Your mom would've been fine without you for a few years."

Lila shrugged again but Claire knew she was still bummed. It was all in her eyes whenever she spoke about school. "My GPA wasn't high enough—and let's not get into the out of state tuition rates. I made a spreadsheet and even with the scholarship I _still_ wouldn't be able to afford it. Living in California isn't cheap."

"Will you transfer after your two years?" Allison asked.

"Sure, but I don't know if it'll be to Cal Tech anymore." Lila waved them off. "I'll think about that when it gets closer. I'm not in a rush to finish school."

"There's a lot you could do." Allison continued.

"I know, we'll see." Lila paused. "Are you afraid of being alone, Claire?"

"Not really."

"I am." Allison said in a small voice. She'd been so quiet, listening so intently.

Lila nodded understandingly. "I think being alone is almost everyone's biggest fear."

"Hey." Claire tugged a strand of Allison's hair. "You have me and Lila now. You're not alone anymore."

"Some days are harder than others... It's a work in progress."

"I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"You think so?"

"You've come such a long way since I first met you, Allison." Claire smiled. "Even your shrink thinks so, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Allison nodded with a smile. "Thanks."

"Hey, so, um… I've wanted to ask you something for a while, I just never knew _how_ to bring it up... Well, really, I still don't know."

"Ask."

Claire blew her bangs out of her forehead. "This probably sounds like a stupid question but what's the first thing you notice about a girl versus a guy? Or is it the same thing?"

Allison took some time to respond. Lila knew from a previous encounter without being told.

"Depends."

"Okay, well, what is it that you typically notice?"

"Eyes."

"With both?" Lila asked and Allison nodded.

"That's an unexpected, and generic, response." Claire frowned. "I thought you'd say something like… feet. I know some people are into it."

Lila shuddered all over. "Foot fetishes are _so_ weird. I can't even give pedi's without wanting to vomit."

Allison chuckled. "The shape is what I see."

"The shape?" Lila asked, setting Allison's hand down to dry. "That's interesting."

Claire smirked. "That's the more Allison-esque response I was looking for."

Allison actually rolled her eyes playfully. Laureline tapped Allison's elbow impatiently but Claire picked her up, tucking her under her arm on the opposite side of where the tray was.

"Well, I may not be into feet but I do look at a man's hands."

" _Hands_?" Claire repeated in disbelief. "That's pretty bizarre."

"It's not when you think about it! I'm a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a person—especially a man—by their hands. I _cannot_ handle dirty hands—" Lila held up Allison's hand. "—Exhibit A."

"Girls tend to have softer hands than guys." Allison added. "I also, uh, don't like small hands on a guy."

"Me neither! And I like muscular men. I like them _big_."

Claire scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. "Okay. Can we please _not_ call any guy under twenty-eight a _man_? Most of these high school and college guys still act like toddlers."

"I can't really argue that." Lila shrugged. "When I was a freshman, I went out with this guy for a few months. I had to call it off because I felt like his mom more than his girlfriend. The boy could barely dress himself. And, honey, don't get me started on his bad habits like wearing the same underwear for weeks on end."

Claire's nose scrunched. "Why're boys so disgusting?"

"Beats me! They think it's attractive, although I'm not sure towards what _species_."

"What about you, Claire?" Allison asked curiously. "What do you notice first?"

"I dunno…" She frowned. "I guess… I guess eyes, too."

" _Generic_." Lila commented with a smirk. "Not surprised at all there."

Claire shoved her shoulder and Lila giggled. "I think I'm more into the color. Have you ever seen a photograph of it up close? Some irises have pretty patterns, the ripples look like mountains or waves. And sometimes they're darker or lighter than the actual color it's supposed to be. It's _so_ beautiful to look at."

"It sounds like it." Allison smiled crookedly.

"Hey, what eye shape are you into, Allison?" Claire asked. "Turns out, I subconsciously date a lot of guys with hooded eyes. It must be my thing."

Allison opened her mouth. Then she clamped it shut. Her entire body went rigid like she'd been caught doing something illegal. Claire thought she'd broken her.

"Allison?" Allison didn't respond. Lila shook her arm gently. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, slowly.

"Hey, if you're embarrassed don't be." Lila said gently and Claire nodded to further her statement. "We're not here to judge! We all have preferences... Okay, we might judge a little. Depends."

"Um..." She spoke with the shyness of a child. "I like eyes like Andrew's… They're kinda roundish, a little childish... They're a really pretty color, too..."

"Andrew? Who's Andrew?"

Claire giggled loudly. "He's a new guy at our school. He was at Michelle's party."

"Ugh." Lila's lip curled in disgust. " _That_."

Claire shook her head. "I still can't believe you got into a fight with Amanda."

"Claire, I _told_ you, it wasn't my fault! I like to think of myself as a classy lady but even we have our limits."

"True. Can't say _I've_ ever gotten into a fist fight, though..."

"I _was_ walking away until that bitch came for my hair." She pointed at her new vibrant red hair, ironed to smooth perfection. " _Nobody_ touches my hair and gets away with it. She can bark up the tree all she wants but can't saw it. I pity her."

Claire sighed. "Still. You shouldn't have done that. It's been months and everyone's still talking about it."

"Then let them talk." She said defiantly. "Nobody can hurt you when you know your own truth."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, that's why I prefer not to lie. They always come back."

"I agree. Now," Lila announced, slapping her own knee. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. It's getting late and I need to my facial routine before bed."

Claire hadn't even noticed it was past midnight. Lila carefully moved the table and padded across the room to the dresser where she left her bag. She grabbed the bottles from her bag, cradling them on one arm. Allison started to lift her hands at the same time Lila stopped at the bathroom door.

"Allison?" She looked. Lila pointed with her acrylic, eyebrows set. "Don't you move those hands. Or even _think_ about touching those nails while I'm gone. Or _else_."

Allison nodded rapidly, swallowing. When the door clicked, Claire flicked her head. Allison's face scrunched like a child's.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?"

"About Andy!" Claire exclaimed.

Allison's lip twisted, almost into a frown. "I don't think he likes me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I think..." Allison said slowly, avoiding her eyes. "He likes you."

" _Me_?" Claire reiterated, shocked. She fumbled on what to say. "We barely talk to each other, Allison. You've been seeing him a lot more than I do ever since he got here. I... What makes you think that?"

Allison shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's just the way you two talk to each other. The way I catch him looking at you. You guys on the same frequency—"

"We've known each other since we were kids. What does—"

"You're pretty. And popular. And nice. And he's... He's so beautiful. He's not a perfect person but I still... " She smiled sadly, wistfully. "And I'm... I'm me."

Claire reached out, massaging Allison's shoulder. "You don't _have_ to be anything like me. Remember Michelle's party? That was all you."

"We wouldn't have talked if you hadn't left."

"I still can't believe I did that." She rubbed her temples. "I really didn't mean to get wasted."

"It happens to the best of us." Allison said dismissively. "You don't have to keep apologizing for it."

"I guess it wasn't all that bad that I did, huh?"

Allison nodded, but it was still solemn.

She was quiet—too quiet even for her. Normally the silences didn't bother Claire. It used to before but that was back when she didn't _know_ Allison. But this blank space was laced with something more than just Allison being Allison.

Claire poked her shoulder. "Allison? There's nothing wrong with you. You're an amazing person."

Allison drummed her fingers on the wood, careful not to curl them. "I'm scared."

Claire softened. "It's okay to be. Even I get scared. But don't let that stop you. You really like him so go for it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" She repeated excitedly. Lila was finally done using the bathroom, starting the trip back to her spot. "You don't have to make the first move if you're not comfortable but do make yourself available, you know?"

Allison took a moment. "How do I do that?"

* * *

Claire couldn't _believe_ she was failing math.

Progress reports had been handed out Monday. She hadn't shown her father yet, not that he'd been around to even ask. This big, fat D in Geometry unsettled her. She thought she was doing well on all the tests! _Where_ did she go wrong?

Her fingers rubbed her temples for the umpteen time today. "Hey, Brian?"

Brian Johnson scribbled away furiously in his notebook, writing out his draft for French II. Claire recently learned he was a sophomore. He may not have the coolest car, or the hottest clothes, but his mind was above and beyond. He was so far ahead of most of the seniors—and she knew almost all of them.

"Brian?" She tried again, shaking his shoulder gently.

He shook his head, the crease in his forehead disappearing. "Huh? Sorry! What is it, Claire?"

She slid over the paper. "Just wanted to know if what I did was right."

"Yeah, me, too." He handed over his notebook. "Let's switch."

Brian's handwriting was neat and easily legible compared to the amount of boys with chicken scratches. She circled and wrote little notes in the corners of the page. He was writing about the events of May '68. It spurred over three pages and probably just under the word limit. Claire didn't know why she expected anything less. He was a perfectionist much like her.

"Brian?" His head perked up this time. "This is good. _Really_ good. Almost perfect."

Brian looked squeamish. "Almost?"

Claire chuckled. "There are a few tense confusions. That's about it."

"It's, uh, a little difficult." He started, swallowing. "I'm in the Latin club and I've noticed the structure is similar but it's not exactly _helping_."

"But you can speak it, right? You can pronounce everything correctly?"

He blushed, avoiding her eyes. "Sort of."

"That's a start! I know this sounds weird but you should read it out loud. Not right now, I mean at home. Hearing yourself speak might help."

"I guess I'll try that." He gave a tight-lipped smile, sliding her paper back. "Here you go."

Claire wanted to hang her head in shame. Same as a teacher, Brian went over her work in red pen... and it was _covered_ in red. There wasn't one correct answer.

"Why am I so bad at this?" She said out loud.

Brian smiled sympathetically. "To be honest? I think Geometry's one of the hardest ones out there."

"Really?"

Brian chuckled. "Yeah, 'cause it involves a lot of formula memorization. I'm good at theories and ideas, but, uh, memory isn't exactly my forte, you know? It can get a little _too_ technical at times."

"Do you cheat on tests, then?"

"Sometimes..." He replied uncomfortably.

"Are you saying that to make me feel better?"

He chuckled. "Is it working?"

She shook her head, feeling a smile forming at his thoughtfulness. "Not really, but thank you."

The formation of library books directly front of them shifted and Claire watched interestedly as one of them was pulled back. The guy tossed it to the side, landing on the floor with a bang. No regard for reserved spaces whatsoever.

He put his chin on top of his interlocked fingers, fixing her with a look that would've made any girl weak.

"Hi."

She raised a brow, hoping her confusion didn't show. He was unconventionally attractive; a grey streak laced with long, dark hair and hazel eyes. By the denim jacket and fingerless gloves, she knew where he belonged... And it was nowhere near her.

"Do I know you?"

He rolled one shoulder. "Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Whether you read between the lines."

Claire rolled her eyes in detest. What is it with guys and mind games?

"What're you doing here?" Brian asked, brows low. "And _why_ weren't you in class?"

His narrowed just slightly, sliding over to Brian. He placed his palm between the books and shoved it to the side, closing the space between them.

"When did you downgrade to the role of my mom?"

"I just wanna know!" Brian whispered evenly. "I was... I was, uh... worried. You usually don't miss shop class—"

"Don't be."

Brian paused, swallowing. "I _really_ needed your help with the blueprints for my lamp. Mr. Ryan's getting agitated about my lack of production. The project needs to be done before the end of March. February's gonna fly by."

"You worry too much, Big Bri. I had other _business_ to attend to."

Brian's eyes softened considerably. "Did Vernon—"

"—catch me in the act of something I didn't do? It's nothing new."

She'd heard _things_ about the nameless figure that was in and out of Vernon's office more than he was in class. Like how one afternoon, Vernon came back to his brand new car covered spray paint. Claire thought it was funny but Amanda's sideways glare shut her up at the time.

Claire went back to the set of problems Brian gave back. God, if she knew she'd be failing math she would've wished for better grades and not a new camera.

"What was it this time?" Brian asked tentatively.

"No clue. All I know is I got another Saturday to waste away in this dump. I should consider bringing a pillow."

"We should do something about this, Bender." Brian suggested.

That name made her heart nearly stop. The numbers became nothing. The red ink no longer mattered. She picked her nose out of the paper, staring at the blocked space where his face had been just minutes ago.

"Like... What?" He asked dryly.

"I dunno. _Something_." He bit his lip. "He's an adult. He shouldn't be painting you as a villain."

"Not much you can do, Big Bri. You're not Legolas. You can't come to my defense. He doesn't listen to anyone much less you."

"I'm offended." Brian whispered loudly. "How can you compare me to Legolas when you _know_ Faramir's my favorite?"

He scoffed. "Does it matter? They're both on the same level of uselessness."

"That's _not_ true!" Brian hissed. "Not falling into the temptation of the ring is a _huge_ feat in the series! With all his wisdom and intellect, we know Faramir could've been the real hero. He would've destroyed the ring at Mordor without the hassle Frodo went through—"

"But he didn't." He interrupted smoothly. "Because Faramir's a chicken."

"He made an _oath_ —a thing you don't understand!" Brian quickly countered. "Faramir was the _only_ character that stuck to it. Other characters—even Gandalf himself!—said the ring was no good but still had the urge to take it from Frodo. Faramir, on the other hand, didn't. He _knew_ nothing good could ever come out of the ring and—"

"Careful, Big Bri. You're getting all bunged up again."

Brian pushed back against his chair with a scowl. He did take a peek at his khaki's before continuing, "I dunno why I bother getting into these discussions with you, Bender. You start these on purpose."

There was that name again. She thought she'd misheard it, but it was real. This was real.

"What _ever_ gave you that idea, Brian?" He asked rhetorically.

Brian sneered. "I don't expect you to get it. You don't like intellectual characters."

"It took you _now_ to notice? God, I know you're no fuckin' expert at practical appliance but this is a whole new level of idiocy for you."

"Shut up! You know what I meant!" He fired back with a confidence Claire didn't think he had until now. "You always like the same _type_ of characters."

"Yeah? And?"

"When're you gonna appreciate characters that aren't your type?" Brian counted with his hands. "There's Aragorn, Han Solo, Laureline, Wolverine, Catwoman. I could go on."

"I know you can." He responded dryly.

"Oh, my God." Claire whispered.

Brian paused, the redness of his cheeks turning back to the pale complexion of his skin. He'd forgotten she was still here. Before he could say anything the books slid back over, and she was face to face with him again.

John.

God, how had she not seen the resemblance before? Those hazel eyes were exactly the same as she remembered except on a face that'd been shed of its boyish tone. A little. He wasn't a boy but not yet a man either. She felt so _stupid_ , so slow.

"It's really you."

"I'm hurt." John said flatly.

Her eyes widened. " _You're_ hurt?"

"What the hell took you so long?" He asked with a raised brow, lifting his head and placing it in his palm. "I dunno how much more I could've said without _saying_ it. And what about my cat? How's she doing? Is she fat?"

" _Your_ cat?"

"Yeah." He said with an unsubtle tone of sarcasm. " _My_ cat that _I_ found and gave to _you_."

"She's _mine_."

"She always liked me more."

She opened her mouth to retort but shut it. Whatever bit of happiness she had dissolved into anger. Her fingers grabbed the pencil tightly. Everything she'd kept inside for the last five years tumbled down like an avalanche. But she wouldn't let it come out—not in public.

"Guys," Brian tried. "You should—"

" _My_ cat is doing just fine—" She snapped, pushing the chair back and not caring how loud it scraped against the carpet. "—no thanks to you and your concern."

Claire shoved her papers between the textbook pages before shoving it all in her purse. It wouldn't fit but she'd make it fit. Getting away from here, away from him, away from all these things coming back to the surface was something she needed to do right now.

"Where're ya going, _Claire_?"

"I'll meet you here tomorrow, Brian." She purposely ignored John's cheeky question. "I forgot my father needs me to be somewhere at four."

"Uh, okay." Brian blinked, checking his watch. "Are you, uh, sure it's a good idea to skip?"

"He called this morning and said I needed to be excused. They know."

Brian's lips twisted in thought. He was concerned but didn't push. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here." Claire smiled, placing the strap of her heavy purse on her shoulder. "Bye."

She practically sprinted out the library, hoping and praying John _wouldn't_ follow. It was all too much; all jumbled, the inevitable flood of all the thing she'd kept locked up for years crashing against the gates. Her hands were shaking but she held onto the strap. _The car isn't far,_ she thought as she inhaled deeply, _I can make it._

His boots were annoyingly loud, stomping and squeaking against the marble floor. How had she missed that sound in the library?

"Stop following me." It was a whisper but the hallway was deserted.

His tone was humorous and, of course, he didn't care. There was only one more period before school let out.

"What makes you think you're _that_ special?"

Claire scoffed, continuing her pace. John could've caught up to her—very easily—but he didn't. He wanted to play cat and mouse. But he was messing with the wrong girl. She wasn't anyone's prey and never had been.

"I must be 'cause you've been on my tail since I left the library."

"Well, sweets—" Claire _almost_ stopped. "I dunno if you've taken the time to notice over the last three years, but there's two main exits in this facility. The one you're heading to just happens to be the closest."

"Oh, my God!" She said in utter disdain. "Of course that was _you_."

"Who else?"

"I don't know! But to think..." She trailed off, turning the corner. If she wasn't mad before, she was worse now. Allison knew him. She _knew_ him and not only didn't tell, but lied right to her face.

"Think what?"

She hated this, hated how pretentious he was. And his tone. It was all the same. Aside from his physical appearance, and the fact that it'd been less than a few minutes, John hadn't seemed to change over the years. It cut deeper the more they spoke. She might as well have even stabbed and bleeding out in the hallway.

"To think I wanted to thank you for what you did." She admitted reluctantly, bitterly.

"You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't say it."

"You will."

She shoved open the double doors. It was still cold but not the same as earlier this morning where she needed her coat. The sun was out, white clouds ripped into intricate shapes. She swore one big mass looked like a dog but she couldn't stare for too long.

The silver BMW stuck out like a sore thumb in a crowd of station wagons and Chevy Impala's. Just a quick trip down the stairs and she'd be home free.

"Ah." John commented, still somewhere behind her. "All the places I could be instead of here..."

She wanted to look back, to take another good look at him. But she wouldn't dare. If she looked back, she was doomed.

"Go away, John."

"Aw, Cherry. Did all the glitz and the glamor of popularity finally get to your head?"

"Why does everyone keep assuming that? I'm not popular anymore."

"I beg to differ but, clearly, you've become too pristine to be hanging with the likes of me again."

She shook her head. "You know that's not true."

"Well, you've been doing a _fabulous_ job at proving otherwise considering how you've been running away from me the last five minutes."

Claire bit her lip. He said it so lightly, so menacing, like he _knew_. She _was_ running away—the same, infamous tactic her parents used on each other when things got rough. And now she understood why. It was so much easier to run.

But her father's words rang in her mind. _Don't be us. Be better_. Being a better person _sucked_.

Curling her lip, Claire stuck her hand in her purse. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"Besides Vernon? I figure Brian could use a break."

"How considerate of you."

"I try."

Her heart sank to her stomach. She couldn't find the keys. She always kept them in a certain pocket but they weren't there! All she kept grabbing were loose pens and some crumpled up notes she passed around in class.

Claire finally reached the driver's side. She maneuvered her bag in front of her, using the door as leverage. Moving all the books, and her makeup bag, and her pencil case aside, she still couldn't find it. _No, no, no! This can't be happening!_

John brushed her side—purposely—before leaning against the door. Even if she did find the keys, his body blocked the handle. He was so _cool_ about it, too. He leaned on the door with hands in the pockets of his light blue jeans. She didn't have to look up to know he was smirking.

"Nice lie you had going earlier but I'm pretty sure Brian didn't even believe it."

"It wasn't a total lie." Claire muttered.

"You still don't get out much, do you, Cherry? Because going out _this_ entrance shouldn't have occurred to you. It's the easiest way to get caught by Vernon, then you'd end up in Saturday detention with the likes of me…" His pause was mocking. "Unless, that was your plan all along?"

God, Claire hated how appealing his voice had become. She could listen to him all day. Listen to all his stupid jokes and sarcasm. _Ugh_. This constant tug of war going on inside her needed to end.

"No, 'cause unlike you I have a hall pass. I can get off the premises whenever I want." Claire indicated with her other hand. "Now, can you _please_ get your foot off the car and leave me alone?"

"I'm crushed, hurt beyond words." He said in the sarcastic tone that hadn't let up. "You really want me to go?"

She didn't look up, Claire refused. She stared at his combat boots that were just as dirty as his jeans. Her fingers still kept vying for the metal. Claire noticed his ankle was wrapped in a red bandana. She assumed the worst but didn't want to bring it up.

"If I said yes, would you actually listen this time?"

"Did I listen before?"

She finally felt the metals, towards the very bottom of her purse. She didn't feel victorious anymore. It didn't matter now, not much did. He was here, right in front of her after all these years of being a ghost.

"I guess I don't really want you to leave until I get an answer."

"An answer? For what?"

Claire scoffed. "I see you still get off on being stupid."

"I do, but I'm really drawing a blank here, Cherry."

With all the courage she could muster, Claire finally met his eyes. His smug expression fell into something of a poker face. She hoped her voice didn't sound as wobbly as she felt.

"Why haven't I heard from you?"

His thick brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"

"Why haven't I heard from you all these years?"

His eyes slowly widened in surprise. John looked away, licking the inside corner of his mouth. "Claire, it's not like we were together. I don't owe you jack shit."

"We weren't but we were still close… Or so I thought." She let out bitterly. "Maybe I just thought too highly of you, won't make that mistake again. Regardless, you do owe me _something_."

Something crossed his face but it left just as quickly as it came. It was the slightest twitch of his eye, like Claire aimed to hit him. She was angry but the thought of hitting him never crossed her mind. She wouldn't understand how his father could be so cruel.

"What if it's not what you wanna hear?"

Claire wanted to roll her eyes. "Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno." He shrugged elaborately, his foot coming off the car and he crossed his arms. "Maybe I grew up and realized I didn't wanna keep playing a game of pretend."

She swallowed back the brittle like swallowing sandpaper. "I don't believe you."

His eyes were narrowed dangerously but Claire wasn't scared. "You don't believe me?"

"No."

"No?" He repeated, louder.

"No, I don't." She paused; glancing at his ear to make sure it was what she thought it was. "You don't believe that, either. You wouldn't be wearing the earring I gave you if you really thought so."

His hand twitched but it didn't move. "I tried pawning it but they wouldn't take it, said it was a dud."

She shook her head, stepping back. _What a filthy, no good liar._ He'd always been terrible but this was a new level. She crinkled her nose, trying not to sniff.

"You're such an asshole."

"I see you've upgraded your vocabulary."

"I wish I could say the same about your personality."

"What's to upgrade? I'm still the same, lovable asshole I've always been."

She looked away with a heavy heart to the football field. The bleachers reflected the sunlight. The students in gym were playing a game of soccer. The sky was still pretty and she wished she could take pictures. Why did things have to be so complicated? Why couldn't he ever be honest?

"Can you please just... _Go_. Please?" She breathed, willing the sting in her eyes to wait a little longer. "I'll talk to you some other time."

His scoffed rivaled hers on her best day. "Fine."

And Claire watched as he walked away. She wasn't expecting that. She expected him to stay and keep fighting. What's worse—after everything—she had the strongest urge to reach out and stop him. Her fingers _itched_ to grip his jacket. Or his hand.

She didn't do it. She wouldn't. Claire had nothing to be sorry for. Instead, she stuck the key in the slot and plopped down on the driver's seat. Her hands trembled as she tried sticking the same key in the ignition slot. She couldn't see through her growing, blurry vision and it was getting hard to breathe.

Finally, the key slid into the slot. She wiped the tears on her cheeks with her free hand. Claire turned it. The car didn't start. She did it again. It jittered several times, almost like it _wanted_ to start up, then went back to being stale. She did it again. The same thing happened.

Her fingers gripping the handle of the steering wheel tightly as she placed her head on the center. She wanted to bang it. But if she did, the car would honk. She didn't need to garner anymore attention.

Why wasn't luck on her side this week? Why _her_? First it was breaking up with Brad, then the decline in math, all this confusion about John, and now her father was probably going to ground her for something that wasn't her fault.

The tap on her window made her jump. It brought her back to reality and out of self pity. It was John. He didn't say a word; just a simple jerk of his thumb towards the front of the car. Her eyes followed his every movement as he walked backwards and stopped at the front of the car. In case she didn’t get it, he pointed down at the hood.

Claire collected herself. Wiping her cheeks—which she was pretty sure was smeared in eyeliner—she pulled the lever for the hood. If she knew they'd meet up again today she would've worn waterproof makeup. Another thing added to the list of this weeks vexations.

She stepped out of the car, leaving the door open. "What're you doing?"

John set up the handle to hold the hood in place. "Looking for a solution."

Claire sniffed, nose crinkling at the heavy fuel from the engine. But John didn't seem to mind. He was right in a zone and she found that she liked watching him.

When he unscrewed something, she meekly said, "This has happened before."

"Yeah? What'd you do to fix it the other time?"

Claire hesitated, clasping her hands in front of her. "I, uh, called a cab for me and had a tow truck come pick it up…"

John's face fell. Shaking his head, he waved her off. "Go start the car again. I need to hear that sound up close."

She nodded. Walking back to the steering wheel, she turned the key. Still nothing.

"Can you turn on your lights?" She turned the nozzle and John leaned over, checking the headlights. "Are they on?"

"They're supposed to be. The light signal didn't turn on when I turned the key. And the light in the car is pretty dim..."

"Turn 'em off."

Claire did. John maneuvered to the passenger side. After taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket, he plucked his bandana from his ankle. Claire got out as he started wiping on one of the thick cables connected to a box.

He glanced at her. "I think it might be the battery."

"It can't be…"

She trailed off, watching the way he moved with precision. Part of her wished he wasn't wearing a jacket. He was probably lean underneath his loose clothing.

Oh, my God, what was _wrong_ with her? She'd been so furious with him before minutes before and now… She snapped out of that quickly. There'd be none of that. She'd promise to swear off guys for a while.

"My father just got the battery replaced a few weeks ago." She continued.

"Why'd it sound like this isn't your car?"

Claire shook her head. "'Cause it's not. It's my father's."

John stopped, looking at her quizzically. "You mean to tell me your daddy hasn't bought you your own car?"

"I do have one!" Claire bit her lip nervously. "It's just…"

He stared at her with raised brows.

"… You're gonna laugh when I tell you."

John almost smiled. "Now I _really_ wanna know."

She let her shoulders slump. "He bought me a Corvette a week after I passed my driver's test. It was a gift."

"… Okay?" Humor crossed his face once again at her silence. "Wait. Let me get this straight. Your old man bought you a car you can't even _drive_?"

"Of course I can drive, you jerk! I just told you that I have my license!" She receded, crossing her arms stubbornly. "... I just can't drive a manual."

John laughed, loud and rich. If he'd been sitting, he would've thrown his head back. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. She was pretty sure even her ears were red as her hair. But his laugh was nice to hear especially after all these years.

She looked away, pouting. "I told you you'd laugh."

" _God_. I can't even say anything to that because I like the guy. He meant no harm." He tried to calm down but he was still smiling. "But if it bothers ya that much… I'll teach you how to drive the stick."

Claire's brow rose. "You'd willingly put yourself through teaching me? Knowing how much of a perfectionist I am?"

"You can't be as bad as Big Bri. You got your license on the first try, right?"

Claire nodded. "After I cried about twenty times 'cause I kept hitting the cones in practice. I'm pretty sure Coach Britton's told stories about me. I can't parallel park for shit."

"Poor baby. Your reputation _ruined_." Claire shot him a glare. It only made his smirk grow into a smile. "It's practice, Claire. You're not a dumb broad for not being able to get it on the first time."

"I dunno." She folded her arms, her hands gripping her elbows. "Driving a manual looks so difficult. There's so much technique to it."

"It's not. It's real simple, but it'll take some time getting used to. You could always give the car to me. I'll know what to do with it."

"No."

His grin turned into a scowl. His red bandana was almost completely black. He unplugged both cables, lifting the box with one hand.

"The battery's a defective." He put it on the roof of the car. Claire didn't see anything wrong with it. "You know how much he paid for it?"

"I wasn't there with him." He reached down, far down. "He did say he had it done for a lot cheaper than where he used to go."

"'Cheap' doesn't mean 'quality'." John pulled himself up, along with pulling out a thin cable. He wiggled it in emphasis. "They ripped him off. Whatever fuck-face did this left a buncha loose cables. Some of 'em aren't tightened correctly."

" _Great_." Claire muttered. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear."

"I'll hook 'em back up." He said while doing just that. "We should stop by my shop and see if there's anything else wrong. I can't see everything from the top."

"Your shop?"

"I work at a mechanic shop." He unscrewed something, taking a quick peek inside before putting the cap back on. Then, he carefully put the battery back in place. "I'm not supposed to be doing this but I know the same amount of shit as these other guys I work with."

"Do you like doing this?"

"Keeps me occupied, makes me money." John put the plugs back in place. He didn't seem to mind that his jacket was covered in dirt, along with his hands. "Try now. It'll start."

Claire nodded, heading back to the driver seat and turning the key. The engine came to life, without a lag. John's smirk was self-satisfied as he shut the hood and rubbed his hands. He blinked those pretty eyes of his expectantly.

She flipped him off, shutting her door. His jaw dropped.

"That hurts me, Claire!" She heard through the muffle and it made her giggle. "After all I do for you! The least you could do is—"

She leaned over all the way, rolling down the passenger window with a smile. "Shut up and get in the car."

When he plopped into the passenger seat, his expression changed. He avoided looking at her. Claire was tempted to say something, but she wasn't sure where to start. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.

The radio started up. Smooth, jazz music poured through the speakers on a soft volume. She never really cared for whatever station her father left on. She only used this car to and from school. Anytime she went out, it was in a friend's car.

Finally, John said, "I lost it."

Claire thought she'd imagined it. "What?"

John's lip curled. "You heard me, Claire."

"You... You lost the paper I gave you? _You_ , who never loses anything?"

He crossed his arms. "Took it out my pocket, left it on my nightstand, went outside to do I can't remember what. Probably smoke or something. Came back the next morning and it was _gone_. My fuckin' mom actually cleaned out my room for the first time in like five years."

"That's it?"

John's glare was uncomfortable as opposed to threatening. "It wasn't one of my best moments, okay?"

"It wasn't your fault." Claire offered, pointing with her index finger. "There's hand sanitizer in there, if you want any."

John popped open the glove compartment, grabbing the mini bottle George always kept. He squeezed some into his hands, wiping them dry with a handful of napkins. They were drenched in black immediately.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna stop me from thinking it."

Claire took the car out of park and put it in reverse. "At least you didn't lose the earring."

John scoffed. "It's only the nicest thing anyone's ever given me."

Claire smiled sadly. "Right."

"Ya know, this is the cleanest car I've ever been in." He said with a miniscule smile, tossing the napkins outside and rolling up the window. "It'd be a _shame_ if—"

"Don't even _think_ about putting your feet on the dashboard!" Claire shouted, shoving his shoulder. "My father just had this car cleaned the other day, too!"

John's mouth fell open in feign surprise. "Claire, how could you think so lowly of me? I'd _never_. I got too much respect for your old man to do anything to his precious vehicle. Vernon, on the other hand..."

"Oh, my God! I should've _known_ that was you. _You're_ the one that spray painted Vernon's car." Claire peeked to the side the same time John licked his lips, hiding his mischievous grin. "John, that is _not_ correct!"

"I have the right to remain silent."

" _John_!"

"What, Claire?" He talked using his hands. "It needed a touch up, that's all."

"Spray painting 'Brownie Hound Mobile' isn't a touch up!"

"Okay. So it needed a little decoration." He reasoned easily. "It looked so miserable and plain. What was I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to leave it alone! It's not your property!" She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "You haven't changed at all! You could've gotten suspended for that if he found out, John! Even expelled!"

John's smirk made her blood churn though she wasn't sure if it was displeasure or desire. "It's a good thing the school's got no camera's."

She frowned, turning on the curb to exit the school. "That's _so_ not the point."

"You haven't changed at all, either, Claire. Still the same goody-two shoes as ever." He paused. "God, you and Brian are so crazy alike. I just had the weirdest case of deja vu."

"How?"

"Well, Brian decided to go off on me, too—except his was a ten minute rant and the guy even went out of his way to bring out the fuckin' policy sheet from those shitty agenda's they give us at the beginning of every year. He made a bullet point list of all the things that _could've_ happened if I'd gotten caught."

"And did you listen?"

"No." He said in that egotistical way of his, getting comfortable on the seat. "I checked out of that conversation the second he started talking... which made it worse."

"Sounds just like you."

"He's just a little ball of anger, sometimes. Kind of like a kitten. Can't say I blame him. His mom's a royal bitch like yours."

Claire smiled despite it all, biting her lip. Maybe it was good John hadn't changed. But the thought of her mom made her face fall.

"So..." He must've noticed her change but didn't push it. "Not that this old, jazz music isn't entertaining and all but do you got anything from _this_ generation?"

"Check the console, jerk."

John popped open the middle console, digging into the contents. He held up one of the tapes like it was incriminating piece of evidence to a case he was about to make.

"ABBA?" John read out loud. " _Really_ , Claire?"

"Yeah, what about them? They're good!" John purses his lips in a cynical way, tossing it by his feet. "Hey, be careful with those!"

"Hm… I figured Madonna." He continued emptying it out. Claire tried to ignore him but it was hard. "Michael Jackson… Phil Collins… Prince… Lionel Ritchie? … Barry Manilow? What's with the love ballads?"

"Is it hard to believe that I enjoy songs about love?" She countered.

"Considering your Rapunzel situation? Nah, I _guess_ not. It's a girly thing, too. I just didn't expect you to be so… _cheesy_." John regurgitated the word like a disease. "They don't even make 'em like they used to."

Claire raised a brow when she finished turning the curb. "Since when've you become the musical expert?"

John glanced sideways. "Well, Claire, I _am_ the one with better taste in just about _everything_."

"Except fashion." Claire smiled, giving his clothes another one up. "You're still terrible."

"'Terrible' happens to be one of my many middle names." He popped in Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ cassette and hit rewind. "But, don't worry, I'll make ya a mixtape when I get the free time. You'll love it."

"Puh-lease." She channeled her inner Allison. "You're gonna put in a lot of what I hate. Like... What's that new band that just came out? Starts with an S..."

"You mean Slayer?"

"Them."

"Ah, you just haven't found the right song, Cherry. The right song changes everything." John reasoned as he hit the play button.

He laid back against the seat, propping his foot on his knee. _Wanna Be Startin' Something_ started playing on low volume. She wasn't sure if she could fight this feeling ignited after years of being out... And she didn't know if she wanted to.

Claire rolled her eyes with a smile. "If you say so."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I watched all three LotR movies a few weeks ago and immediately  in love. It's the same with A Song of Fire and Ice (also known as Game of Thrones—except I stopped watching the show and picked up the books). We is a Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen enthusiast. GRRM is on some other shit that I'd like to be on. And Tolkien was ahead of his time. LotR is a phenomenal piece of work, if you can get past his writing style. We love Aragorn in this house, along with Frodo/Sam's relationship. I fucking WISH more relationships were written like theirs.
> 
> In other, more relevant, news I've been stuck on how exactly I'm gonna get these two together since the very start of this story but it finally hit me. Better late than never, I guess... A warning, but I'm gonna be dealing with a lot of heavy topics from here on out. Stay tuned!
> 
> Oh, final thing. That scene of John moving the books and saying hi to Claire that I wrote out? It's a deleted scene in the movie, and yeah, Brian was sitting next to her too. Although the scene in the movie is vastly different, I knew I had to use it somehow when I saw it. The deleted scenes were everything I deserved as more. Validation that I'm writing John/Claire the right way is SWEET.


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